


Collection of Oddities

by TerminusVerso



Series: Collection of Oddities [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aftertale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Outertale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Reapertale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Blood and Injury, FGOD Error, Forced god of destruction, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Marital Problems, Mild Swearing, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reincarnation, Sadness, Socks, Tree Puns, Weirdness, culinary devastation, cursing, demon Broomie, hugs!, palette the sapling, puns, rainbows and evil, reaper is a moron, what am I doing with my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 56,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23156725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerminusVerso/pseuds/TerminusVerso
Summary: A collection of inane nonsense (ranging from Error being reincarnated as Palette to Dust finding a new love for the color pink) circling around the many AUs and Multiverses of the Undertale world. Some stories will be connected; Others will be random one-shots.Stop by and see what treasures, orhorrors, you can find.
Relationships: AfterDeath - Relationship, Afterdeath (Past), DestructiveDeath, Ink/Dream, Nightmare/Error, Nightmare/Geno, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Reaper/Geno, Sans/Sans (Undertale), glitcheddeath, reaper/error
Series: Collection of Oddities [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936051
Comments: 973
Kudos: 491





	1. Rendtale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Sans gets split into two halves. One is stuck in a dirty sock; The other has their body.

"Ugh..." 

Eyes squeezed shut, Sans groaned from his place on the floor. The world felt like it was spinning. Despite the fact, not him or anything around him moved an inch. Pain flared in his chest. A horrid stabbing sensation reminiscent of when the kid slashes him across the ribs. 

_What happened_ , he wondered.

The floor lacked the signature chill of the Judgment Hall... So he hadn't just fought the kid. Feeling around, he noticed the ground was oddly plush. Like carpet? A hand firmly rubbed against the soft, connected strands. Yeah, definitely carpet. But where did that leave him?

The surface was an unlikely option. If he remembered correctly, Frisk reset recently. Though, given his scrambled thoughts, he couldn't fully cross out the possibility. The Ruins? Nah. Sans gave up on bargaining with Toriel a long time ago. Waterfall? No. Too wet; He shouldn't have been watching Papyrus train, either. 

It was a Saturday, wasn't? An exercise free day?

 _Great_. He couldn't even remember which day of the week it was.

Sans laid limp, thoughts swirling in his mind, much like the room's sensation. Once the dizziness subsided, he dared to crack open his eye sockets.

A pile of sticky-notes. A dusty, old couch and ancient TV. Stairs leading up to a loft with a novelty bone paint. Sans relaxed. He was home. A good thing, but something still felt off. _Unusual_.

 _The brat didn't do something, did they?_ The last thing he needed was more f-ing games and new ways to be tortured. _Wait. Where is Papyrus?_

It seemed some investigation needed to be done. Especially if Frisk- Chara, whoever the hell they claimed to be, decided to spice up the timeline. Placing his arms on either side of his body, Sans slowly lifted himself into a sitting position. Thankfully, the world remained steady as he did so.

 _Where to start?_ He took a shaky step toward the stairs and froze.

His lab! He had been doing something in there, though couldn't quite recall what. Would Papyrus be there? Maybe. Maybe not. There was only one way to find out. Teleportation was fast. So that's what he did. Sans gathered his magic, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest, and teleported to the secret room. The scenery shifted in an instant, and the stocky skeleton found himself standing in the middle of a messy tile room.

Papers strewn about, old science books laid out, the lights on his broken machine flicker- But no Papyrus... Wait. The lights on his godforsaken machine were _flickering_. That malfunctioning piece of scrap metal was _working_.

Sans couldn't not wonder, _What on Earth did I do?_

It had been nonoperational for years. Any efforts to get it up and running were in vain. He took a step closer, inspecting the outside and notes scattered around it. Then something caught his eye. A little piece of fabric protruding from one of the machine's crevasses. Plucking it from its' hiding spot with the upmost care, Sans drew the cloth closer to his face to get a good look at it.

A... sock? It was a _sock_. 

Sans winced _, Sheesh, Pap is right. I really need to learn the fine art of cleanliness._

Right before he could toss the offending object into the nearest trashcan, something interesting occurred. Something a sock should not, under any circumstances, do. 

"Uhh, me- Sans? I think we have a problem." Sans' jaw dropped as the sock spoke. In his own voice! Shocked, he immediately checked that sock. And it worked. Because... Well- T H E S O C K H A D A F - I N G S O U L .

\---

Sans the Skel- Er, sock?

LV: 0

EXP: 0

HP: 0.5/0.5

DEF: 1

ATK: 1

_*This is an unexpected turn of events._

_\---_

"You've got to be kidding me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: terminusverso.tumblr.com


	2. DREAM!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare will always curse his brother's name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare using his brother's name as a curse word? Sure, why not.

There was something peculiar about Nightmare- more specifically, with the way he cursed. The usual expletives such as _funk_ , _witch_ , or _plastered_ never left the other's jaws. He swore a name with the same amount of malice instead. Over the years, his friend and allies came to terms with this odd quirk. However, long before they had gotten to know the dark king better, things were quite... different. His choice of swearing often caused some problems in their Haventale hideout.

"DREAM!" The angry howl echoed throughout the castle, followed by a _crash_.

Killer shot out of his bed, startled, and reached for the nearest knife before slamming his door open and dashing through the corridors. His mind was racing. That voice. It was Nightmare. Were they under attack? How far had Dream's forces infiltrated?

Given his swift speed, the tear-stained skeleton reached the site first. Then Dust popped up soon after him, looking somewhat irked, followed by a sleepy Horror. 

What they saw constituted as unexpected. The dark hall held no invaders or anyone, aside from themselves and Nightmare. One of the windows embedded in the stone was shattered; Broken shards of glass littered the ground, but there were far and few in-between. A spot along the wall was noticeably empty as well.

Killer spoke up first, "Nightmare, what's going on? How many are attacking us? Where is Dream?"

"Did he come alone?" Horror inquired, glancing around the hall lazily.

"You threw him out the window, didn't you?" Dust stated, bluntly.

Nightmare leveled them with a confused expression. "What are you lot going on about? Dream is not here; He doesn't even know this place exists. If anything, he's more likely to be in Candytale. Did all of you have nightmares?" The goopy skeleton questioned, frowning slightly.

"But, your shout..."

"The window?"

" 'm tired."

Nightmare sighed and gestured toward the window. "When exiting my room for a nightly venture, the candles blew out, and I stubbed my toe on that-" He pointed outside at an old decorative furnishing. "godforsaken cabinet." The last two words were hissed with unparalleled hate.

"Okay. What does this have to do with Dream, though?"

Nightmare scoffed. "Do you even have to ask? His very existence is a plague upon monsterkind. His very being is a curse upon my life. Why wouldn't I curse him?"

Dream jolted awake and shuddered. He had a _feeling_. A certain unpleasantness that only happened when his brother cursed his very name. The action always sent a dark chill down his spine. It happened quite often. Unfortunately. The light skeleton settled back in bed, snuggling into his sheets. 

Why couldn't Nightmare return to the way he used to be? Why did he insist on cursing Dream's name with such intensity?

The Guardian of Positivity didn't sleep well that night.


	3. Your Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a ghost - a cruel apparition of the one he failed to save - that haunted the Multiverse; Whoever they used to be was gone. Reaper knew this. He did. Really. But that didn't stop him from wanting to bring this ghost back to life.

Ghosts, spirits, apparitions, souls left to wander aimlessly- They were Reaper's bane. He loathed these ghastly images of the past, but at the same time, he was hopelessly in love with one. _His_ ghost. The distorted remains of his precious Geno. Despite everything (the death, the destruction, the harsh words, the intense battles), Reaper believed his former lover was still in there. Somewhere hidden beneath those glitches and dark bones, Geno laid in wait. Waiting for his black-cloaked lover to save him.

And Reaper wanted to do that- to show the insane destroyer, Error, who he used to be. To save him from the madness dwelling in himself.

So the embodiment of death made his way to the one place Geno's shadow could be found without fail: Outertale.

Stars littered the surrounding deep purples, blues, and light azures. Some came together, creating intricate patterns and pictures. Ursa Minor/Major, Draco, Orion, Leo, Canis Minor/Major, and Andromeda to name a few. Those special moments spent stargazing and tracing constellations with Geno certainly helped him remember them. Planets of all shapes and sizes drifted in the vacuum; Each slowly following their natural orbit. Blue giants, red giants, white dwarfs, brown dwarfs, black dwarfs, red dwarfs, supergiants, black holes, pulsars- Reaper had no idea what most of them were but knew they existed in the vast skies.

Comet tails trailed in the distance. Shooting Stars chased each other across the horizon. The beautiful scenery was only broken by the deep blackness of the Void below.

Reaper stepped out onto the flouting rock he knew Error would be. It was the best place for stargazing, after all. And oh did his Geno enjoy staring up at those little specs of light while talking his nonexistent ears off.

"N-no. That-that one i-is Cassiopeia." It seemed the madness never quite got rid of that quirk, as the destroyer was lecturing empty space about the stars above.

His insane-driven lover almost looked peaceful at times like this. A light smile - not at all like the crazed grin worn while destroying Aus - laid on his jaws. The wild look in his eyelights was replaced by a gentleness unbefitting of a madman. Reaper could easily imagine Geno sitting in the destroyer's stead. 

"Geno." The soft mutter made his presence known. Error jolted from his place at the rock's edge and whirled around to face the source. His posture was tense. Ready for a fight. Something the pair, unfortunately, did often. The dark skeleton glared - a disguise for squinting, no doubt - at him. Once the half-blind glitch realized who he was, he spat, "Oh-oh, i-it's _you_."

The virulence in his tone stung. It always bewildered the Death God. Geno loved him dearly. Error, on the other hand, hated Reaper with a passion; Every time they met, he did his best to make it known. Why? He had no clue. Perhaps it was Geno's cold nature kicking in. Or perhaps he had somehow wronged his lover's ghost in the past. 

"Geno." Reaper pleaded.

Error glitched and ground out, "That-at is n-not _MY NAME_!"

"Yes, it is. If you give me a chance, I can show you that- who you used to be, how to live outside of the Anti-Void, the best places to stargaze at night, all the quirks I love about you, _your family_. Your Papyrus." Reaper dared to step closer and offer the other a bony hand. "Please, Geno, give me a chance."

They had had this exact conversation a million times before, and the answer was always, always the same.

Error sneered at the outstretched hand, then did something unexpected. Usually, he would curse at Reaper before vanishing into the Anti-Void. This time Error regarded him coldly, staring at him with an icy gaze that could freeze a flame monster. After a moment, he spoke. "If you really love me - Geno, whoever the hell you're after - take those feelings and let them die. I don't give an ever-living _funk_ about anything or anyone other than myself. You're just wasting my time- time I could be spending ridding the Multiverse of filthy glitches." Error turned around, facing Outertale's extensive solar system. "Now go away! I'm not in the mood for your incessant chatter, you moron."

Reaper's resolve faltered. That was the most Error had ever said to him, and the words- they cut deep into his soul, like barbed wire digging into a fragile substance. It couldn't be true. His lover had to be in there; had to have the ability to care for others. Geno was a bleeding-heart. Literally. Though life brought bitterness, he cared for others more than himself. His universe, his friends, his brother- They were his world. And Reaper became a part of that world.

 _Error is lying. He has to be_ , Reaper thought. _Geno would never lose that part of himself!_

Words itched in his throat, but he refused to voice them. He knew better than to push this topic further. Error quite evidently did not wish to continue talking. The dark skeleton's back faced Reaper- a sign the other planned on ignoring the Death God until he left. _  
_

Any words would fall on deaf ears.

Defeated, Reaper respected Error's wishes and left.

* * *

Reaper shuddered, as a strange feeling sent chills down his spine. Something was... wrong? Off? Missing? That seemed close but not quite right. He shook his head and silently pondered. No, this was far worse than something being slightly off or missing. A grand event just transpired without a single soul capable of stopping it. 

One of the Multiverse's forces - one as vital as Death itself, and on par with Creation - disappeared. _Poof_ \- just gone, as if it had fallen into the Void. Never to be seen again. And no good would come from its absence. The Multiverse relied on every single force to hold itself together, including the 'bad' ones. Darkness, Destruction, and Death were equally as important as Light, Creation, and Life. Neither could exist without the other (Well, they could, but not without dire consequences.); Together, they kept the Balance intact. Apart, the world crumbled around them. They circled each other for eons, unable to overpower their opposite.

 _I need to check on Gen-_ Error _... I should check on Error. Just in case._

Reaper vanished through a dark portal, going back to the Outertale he came from moments ago- The sight awaiting him was one he wordlessly feared. Signs of a brief fight littered the flouting rock. Deadly blue strings laid limp, tangled like they couldn't catch their prey. Glitched bones spread across the battleground. An odd pattern formed from the collective attacks; It looked as though they meant to strike an incredibly speedy foe, and failed. Each attack lacked clear signs of impact- dust, blood, et cetera.

Both magicks were slowly deteriorating, as evident by the light blue particles slowly wafting into the air. Error was dead.

The black-cloaked skeleton stared in horror. First, he lost Geno. Now he had lost his lover's ghost as well.

_**S O M E O N E W O U L D P A Y .** _

And the few black strings would lead him to the poor soul.

After all...

No one could escape the ire of Death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original scene Death was going to come across was way darker, but I decided to forgo that idea... so, no creepy horror scene. 
> 
> Not today, at least.


	4. Foolish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blueberror and Error participate in some April Fool's shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy April Fool's Day!

Silence engulfed the Anti-Void- but not on this day, as two errors in the system were plotting to prank the multiverse.

"Blueberror, re-remind me how-w exactly you-you talked me in-into _this_?" Error hissed, looking down at his outfit. Wrapped neatly around his neck was a torn red scarf. A long white lab coat and sweater covered his chest; old black shorts with a white stripe on each side clothed his legs. Fluffy pink slippers sat on his feet.

It was the very same outfit Geno wore. 

The starry-faced glitch giggled. "W-well, first I-I convinced you-u it would be-be super duper fun-fun to pretend-nd to be so-someone for the day-day, and brought-ght you Ink's old clo-clothes, which-which you rejected-ed for obvious reasons. _But_... I still-still don't under-understand why you-u decided-ed t-to dress as _Geno_."

"If-If I'm going-ing to pretend t-to be a filthy abom-abomination for the d-day, I might as-s well be-be the most toler-tolerable one." 

Ink's day hadn't been going as planned. Sure, he liked pranks as much as the next skeleton, but _this_ was just ridiculous. Toilet paper - likely an entire month's worth - laid across the roof of his house. How someone got that much toilet paper, let alone got it into the very secure Doodle Sphere, was a mystery to him. With a sigh, he moved to begin cleaning it up.

That plan was cut short, though. Right as Ink went to grab some of the loose paper, a sharp pain stabbed at his nonexistent soul.

An AU was being destroyed. 

"Yes!" Ink squealed, childishly. The destruction of an AU could only mean one thing: Error. His best friend (solely in mind, not in spirit) and rival! And here he was beginning to think today would be lame and full of cleaning. He pulled Broomy from his back and formed a paint portal to the AU.

The sight that awaited caused him to freeze. A hand slowly reached into his pocket and produced a phone. Ink swiftly dialed the number of who he sought. 

"Uh... Reaper, I think your husband is finally taking the whole 'destroy all the timelines' thing seriously."


	5. My Kismet Is A Choice?! (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destiny throws Error into a different Multiverse.   
> 
> 
> Inspired by "Healing What Has Been Broken" and "Falling Into A Different Destiny" by harrish6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Error! May the sadness... uh- not ruin the festivities?

Desperation. That was Destiny's drive. She wanted her child, Error, to be safe more than anything in the world. However, as long as his being was intertwined with a similar multiverse, he could never truly escape Fate. Her sister would always be able to pull strings in one way or another. Fate would never fail to find a way to make Error suffer; praising her own hellspawn all the while.

It needed to end.

And if ending it meant Destiny would never see her child again but know he could live a happy life, she would do it. Over and over and over again- No matter what the answer would never change. For Error, she was willing to do anything.

So, when the broken skeleton landed in her arms, she made an improvised decision. Summoning all her power, Destiny sent him far away. Farther than any Sans, human/monster, or deity dared to reach. To a place untouched by the magic of Gods or Goddesses. A world where monster magic was a thing of the past and lived on as a mere myth. A Multiverse composed of a single enormous AU, where Ink (Fate's unholy brat) was no more than a weak, defenseless child. 

Yes, Error would be able to live happily in a place such as that. 

Destiny smiled softly, watching as her beloved child vanished from her arms. _May the truest kismet be your guide, Error, my dear child. And no matter how challenging the trials ahead are, hold onto your unwavering determination and yield to no forced fates._

Everything ached. It made sense, considering Ink and the entire Multiverse just attacked him. Bones, flames, energy blasts- Ink spared no expense to make sure Error was defeated once and for all; When he said the _entire_ Multiverse, he meant it. Everyone- Sanses, Papyruses, Toriels, Asgores, Frisks, Charas, and et cetera- _Everyone_ was there, minus Nightmare and his gang. They didn't come. Not even when Error was broken and bleeding on the ground being beaten mercilessly. Not even when he begged for mercy. Not even when his soul cried out for help.

**_T H E Y D I D N ' T S A V E H I M ._ **

**_T H E Y D I D N ' T T R Y T O._ ** **_  
_ **

That fact stung more than any of the injuries he sustained. His friends, his allies, the monsters who claimed to have his back no matter what, abandoned him. After everything they had been through together- Fighting the same battles, running from the forces of 'good', watching movies, eating dinner together, sleeping under the same roof, helping each other with personal problems... After all that, they abandoned him. They abandoned Error. Why? ** _  
_**

**_W H Y ?_ **

Nightmare, Dust, Killer, Horror- None of them believed Error was evil. He told them about the Balance; They believed him. Or... at least, they made him think they did. Why else would they have left him to die? Why else would they choose to betray him? ** _  
_**

His so-called ' _friends_ ' were nothing more than **_d i r t y l i e r s_**. 

A harsh cough jarred Error's frame. It sounded oddly wet, and a sticky substance seeped from his mouth. Blood, no doubt. His eyes were squeezed shut from the pain, so he couldn't say for certain. Given what he went through, though, it was the likely answer. Hell, he should be dead after all that. Yet here he stood- er, crippledly laid. Standing right now would be a horrible mistake. Red made sure the bones were broken, muttering something about not wanting to give Error the chance to run away. Well, it worked. The destroy could only run as far as he could spit blood. Which wasn't very far. It was hard to aim at your enemies while being beaten to death. ** _  
_**

What happened afterward was a blur. First, Error fell and fell and fell- trapped in eternal darkness, being torn apart by the unrelenting forces of the Void. Whether or not he went there willingly was a mystery to him. Would Ink push him into the Void? Yeah, probably. _Then_ someone caught him. Error, the destroyer of worlds, was saved. By an unknown stranger who ignored past transgressions and aided him, no less. A true rarity. While the memory remained blurred, he could almost imagine that stranger holding him close and lovingly (a crazy notion, but Error could dream), like a precious treasure made of the finest porcelain. 

Error groaned as a sudden wave of pain washed over his bone. Using what little strength remained, he curled his broken body into the closest equivalent to the fetal position. It hurt. Static rang in his skull, cutting out any outside noises. 

"_e_!" The vowel pierced through the noise. 

"H_y! _r_ y__ ok__?!" The voice was clearer this time, but the _stch-ing_ of static had yet to leave his 'ears'. Or lessen. Error released a whimper at the sound. Cracking his sockets open, he inspection the person/monster shouting in a worried, frantic tone. 

A woman with short, bright pink hair and kind eyes was crouched over him. Her face pinched in worry and obvious distress. Error would have liked to see more of this odd human. However, the edges of his vision were overcome by darkness. It slowly crept along until it blocked everything from sight; With that, for the first time in an eon, the destroyer of worlds passed out from pain. 


	6. Get Off My Lawn!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Error's past comes back to haunt him; he doesn't like sharing.

Something happened in the Multiverse- Space and time fluctuated, and the Voids shifted and swayed. It was an _unnatural_ occurrence. One that no monster or human anticipated. And like all unexpected multiversal shenanigans, it had some interesting results. 

For Error, the self-proclaimed destroyer of worlds, the day started off normal enough. He harassed an Underfell Sans, stole yarn for his puppets, laughed at Nightmare when he somehow got his head stuck in a tree, ran away from Nightmare after he escaped the tree, watched a new episode of Undernovela- It was great. Though, something strange occurred later in the day.

He... fell asleep. And as anyone familiar with him should know, Error did not sleep. Would never sleep. He hates sleeping more than Nightmare loathes his brother.

When the dark destroyer awoke from his dreamless slumber, the sheer whiteness of the Anti-Void did not greet him. Instead, a deep darkness stretched out far beyond what his poor eyesight could see. This puzzled Error. Why did he fall asleep? Where was this place? Had someone kidnapped him while he slept? Blueberry did it, didn't he?! He growled. Error knew he should've never accepted the Swap skeleton's pretty words and friendship vows. Everyone was always a traitor in the end. **_A L W A Y S ._** Friendship means _nothing_ to living beings. It's merely a fancy way of getting close to someone in order to get a better aim at their back. With a sharp, sharp knife in hand. 

Fueled by the rage bound to betrayal, Error sprung off the (oddly grassy) ground and roared into the blackness. "Blueberry! I swear when I get my hands on you, you'll regret every decision you've ever made, and pray for a swift and painless end- Which you _won't_ get!" Usually, the tirade would continue further, however, a little detail caught Error off guard. His voice- It was _normal_. It sounded almost like any other Sans' voice. The only difference between his and Classic's was the ill raspiness that weaved into his words. Kind of like... he had the voice of someone that should, by all means, be dust. The bewildered and angry skeleton glanced down at his hands. They were white. 

"The _funk_?!" Nigh frantically, his eyelights scanned over himself, noting each and every change to his being. Glitches? Replaced by equally uncomfortable white, twitching quadrilaterals. Scarf? Error did not wear one, but he sure was now. The offending article - a tattered red scarf that had no business being on his person - was wrapped neatly around his neck. Cozy hoodie? Gone. An itchy old lab coat replaced the soft, comforting item. Shirt? Exchanged for an article that would be as pristine as the Anti-Void if not for the blood-red slash across it. Shorts? Well, actually, his shorts hadn't changed. His slippers, though? The illegally velvety footwear stolen from Abomination #13? They were gone; In their place was cheap, pink slippers!

"Who in the name of all that is unholy stole _my_ clothes?!" Error growled, staring at the changed articles. The very fact someone had partially undressed him and replaced his clothes made him extremely uncomfortable. Who did something like that? Wait a minute- _Ink_! The insane artist had questionable morals at best, and zero concept of personal space. Not to mention, he was Error's greatest nemesis. Aside from glitter. Allowing Blueberry to bring that fine, sparkling powder into the Anti-Void was a mistake. A great mistake. It got _everywhere_ ;The substance continued to be a nuisance, as Error could not fully rid his home of it. More seemingly spawned from the aether whenever he cleaned.

_Revenge against Ink comes first. I'll deal with that traitorous Swap Sans later._

Huffing, the destroyer examined the surrounding area. It looked like an unimpressive knockoff of the Void. The sole difference between the two was the grass beneath his feet. "What kind of twisted world has grass in an endless void? And only one patch of it? Ink must be losing his grip on reality." Error scoffed, eyeing the landmark.

As 'exciting' as the dark place was, something about it rubbed him the wrong way, and he wanted to leave ASAP. Plus, he had a vendetta to enact. Which couldn't be completed in the discomforting Void-esque place. With a wave of his hand, Error summoned a porta- Nothing? He blinked. The area chosen for the portal to appear at was empty. How? He tried again. Nothing happened. Gritting his teeth and scowling into the darkness, the destroyer tried again. And again... And again. Sheer stubbornness urged him to continue until exhaustion took over. 

At the end of his desperate attempts to escape, he fell back onto the grass, feeling something unusual. Fatigue paired with an immense tiredness. The kind of tiredness one feels when they need to sleep. It weighed down his eye sockets and was an overall irritating feeling. Error groaned, thinking, _I'll rest my eyes for a little while. Maybe it will make this annoying sensation go away._ And just like that, the land of dreams claimed him. 

Later on, the destroyer awoke to sound of tiny footsteps and the sight of a Frisk. The brown-haired child was crouched beside him, gazing at him in awe, shock, and worry. This irritated Error further. Glaring menacingly at the familiar abomination, he inspected them in an attempt to determine which AU he was currently trapped in. They shifted uncomfortably and appeared somewhat frightened. Why? He may be the destroyer of worlds, but his present form did not portray that in the slightest.

Error's eyelights drifted toward their feet- Feet which were all over the grass, smushing it into the ground. This caused him to snarl, "Hey, brat! Find your own patch of grass, 'cause this one is _mine_." Yes, claiming ownership over a grassy patch was weird- But he'll be damned if he didn't have the only good thing in this dark, endless prison!

Startled by his sudden outburst, the Frisk bolted into the unknown, leaving Error with peace and quiet. 

* * *

**\- Later That Day -** ****

"Geno, please stop this madness!" After, the resident Sans of Aftertale, pleaded to his bloody counterpart. The only reply he received was an angry hiss from the stubborn skeleton who surrounded the Save Screen's patch of grass (and himself) with a bone cage. **  
**

"Gen-"

"Ugh! For funks sake, that is _not_ my name; If you don't stop calling me that, I'll destroy this pitiful world and everyone you hold dear!" Supposedly-not-Geno threatened. After sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Nice to see some things don't change._

"Will you at least dissipate your attacks?" He asked, gesturing to all the bones his counterpart summoned around himself. _  
_

"Only when you radholes stop rubbing your grubby little feet all over _my_ grass!"

Needless to say, this wasn't exactly the heartfelt reunion After expected. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of late, I have found myself enjoying the fine art of gardening; More than a few trees have come into my possession. (Three gala apple trees, four mulberry trees, and a white nectarine tree.) In order to increase my investment in prolonging their existence, they shall all be named. _And_ I figured it would be more fun if you guys named them!
> 
> I have a few more trees and plants scheduled to arrive (two butternut trees, a liberty apple tree, and seven different types of roses [white, blue, purple, pink, red, orange, and yellow]), and once I'm certain they will live, I'll be seeking names for them as well. So if you have a name suggestion better suited for one of those, save it for later. 
> 
> What name do you suggest, and for which tree?


	7. How To (Attempt To) Socialize Your Glitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "Get Off My Lawn!"; Error still an angry little glitch.

In the Multiverse, there were many traditions which varied from AU to AU. Aftertale, of course, had a special tradition of its own. Every year around Christmas time, a big party would be held by Geno (2.0), and all Sanses and Papyruses were invited to attend. This year After intended to go. _With_ the unholy terror dubbed Homi (short for Homicide)- His Genocide may be the first, but he was far too late to claim the moniker 'Geno' as his own. Especially in the grand scheme of the Multiverse. Plus, everyone met Geno (2.0) first... so suddenly changing his name would be weird.

There was only one problem, though. Homicide wanted nothing to do with the Christmas party. 

"Homi, let go of the wall!" After growled, pulling on his counterpart's legs as he stubbornly clung to the nearest doorway. Homicide didn't move an inch. For an eternally weakened skeleton, the other had a surprisingly strong grip. 

"Never! You can't make me go to that stupid party. And stop calling me that funking name, it's even worse than 'Geno'!" The limpet of a monster replied with malice. 

After much help from Papyrus, AKA Later, (and more bribery than he was willing to admit to), they removed Homicide from the wall/doorframe.

The seemingly Classic Sans looked down at his watch. The time 5:24 sat on its screen. They were a bit late, but that was to be expected considering Homicide tried to escape on multiple occasions; Said skeleton was sulking next to him, begrudgingly wearing an ugly Christmas sweater that said '404: Sweater Not Found'. After knocked on Geno's door. The action of which seemed to increase Homi's displeasure tenfold. His grouchy, criminally insane counterpart looked ready to bolt at a moment's notice. 

Reaching into his inventory, he swiftly plucked out a chocolate bar and waved it in front of the squirrely skeleton. The other reacted like lightning. One minute he had the chocolate in his hand, and the next, it was being clutched in Homicide's steely grasp. Thankfully, it bought enough time for someone to answer the door. 

Geno opened it, and just in time to see his alternate self cram the entire chocolate bar (and wrapper) into their mouth. A vaguely disturbed expression crossed the bloody skeleton's face before he stuttered out, "C-come in?" 

And After did exactly that, dragging Homicide by the arm to prevent another escape attempt. Numerous different Sanses and Papyruses had already arrived. Edge and Fell from Underfell, Blue/Blueberry and Stretch from Underswap, Sci... who was from somewhere, Reaper/Death from Reapertale, the native Aftertale Sanses and their Papyrus- And many more that After couldn't say he was familiar with or recognized. Homicide tensed behind him, likely due to his strange distaste for others. After still hadn't figured out what exactly happened to his other half. But, all the signs pointed to nothing good. 

Warily, Geno led them over to where Classic, Edge, and Reaper were chatting. Reaper was the first to notice their approach, and After wasn't particularly fond of how the other's eyelight lingered on Geno and then Homicide. The white dot carried an unreadable emotion. One After wasn't about to try to decipher. When they reached the little group, everyone stopped talking. Classic appeared mildly interested, Edge seemed confused, and Reaper- He eyed Homicide with intense curiosity. Hopefully, that curiosity wouldn't end with him getting stabbed. 

Before any introductions could be made, the dark-cloaked skeleton teleported right in front of Homicide, leaned close, and asked, "What's your name, beautiful?"

Homicide growled, "None of your business. Now, get out of my face!"

"And what if I don't?" The death god asked, smugly. Reaper thought he could play the same game he did with Geno. However, the next action proved his assumption to be very wrong. A soft _smack_ echoed across the room. Almost everyone was staring at Homicide in shock. The other Aftertale Sans had not only escaped After's hold but used his now freed hand to hit Reaper. The palm of said hand was sitting right in the middle of the god's face; Ever-so-slowly, Homicide dragged it downward. Pleased with the gobsmacked expression Reaper wore, he decided to add salt to the wound by snatching the cup of coffee from him and taking a sip.

"Yeah, this is mine now. What are _you_ going to do about it?" Homicide stated, wearing a look of triumph.

No one reacted. Not even Reaper, who just had his beloved coffee snatched from him. After wasn't sure what to do. Should he try to get Homi to give the drink back... or not? 'Yes' would be the right answer, if Homicide was a sane, mature monster. But, he was not. Plus, he already said 'mine' and After knew well enough to back off when that word was involved. 

Suddenly, a short skeleton with an ink stain on his face appeared right next to Death and his likely murderer. After noted the poor soul was a tad too close to Homicide. 

"Oh, hi!" The colorful-garbed Sans started. "I don't think we've me-" 

The words were cut off by the pained cry of their speaker, and a harsh _crack_ followed. After sighed and rolled his eyelights. _Just another Thursday. He should be happy me and Paps did a weapons check before forcing Homi out from under his rock. You only make that mistake once._

Homicide's latest victim fell to the ground, crying out, "Why!" _  
_

"You're annoying." After's, unfortunately, insane counterpart replied. 

As if nothing happened, Homicide walked away. Headed towards Blue if After's assumptions were correct. 

Reaper gazed after the other, whispering in awe, "He can throw a punch, _and_ he likes coffee."

Instantly after, the dark-cloaked god whirled around to face the bloody skeleton in the room, "My sweet Geno,"

" _What?_ "

"I'm truly sorry, but it seems our game of cat and mouse has come to an end."

"Reap-" Geno started, only to be interrupted.

"Shh-shh! Don't make this harder than it needs to be" Reaper turned away dramatically before continuing, "Farewell, Geno. Don't be too miserable without me." With that said, the bringer of death vanished in a puff of black smoke. After had a sneaking suspicion the skeleton left to search for Homicide. But, he'd worry about that later. Mainly when a mass group starts screaming in utter horror and fear. Until then he had other problems.

"Geno, are you... okay?" After questioned the shocked skeleton.

"Yes. No. Maybe? I- I'm just... not sure if I should feel happy Reaper will stop harassing me, or insulted because he thinks a literal other version of me is more attractive."


	8. The PTA Meeting: Linda vs. Homicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to " _Get Off My Lawn!_ " and " _How To (Attempt To) Socialize Your Glitch_ "; After brings Homicide to the PTA meeting, and is pleased by the results. ( _Warning: Dark comments made by Homicide._ )

The sun held its' position high in the sky, beaming down light onto the school below. The building was quite lively on this day. Monsters and humans bustled in the many rooms and hallways; Yet others had quietened, prepared for the upcoming PTA meeting. A particular set of skeleton monsters sat in one of these rooms. 

"Brother... Are you certain this is a good idea?" Papyrus asked, warily glancing toward Homicide, who had a plate of double chocolate chip cookies in hand. "And why did you bride him with so many cookies? He'll spoil his appetite! Not to mention, miss out on the Great Papyrus' divine culinary skills!" 

A devious smirk spread across After's face. "Yeah, I'm sure- This may even be my greatest idea yet." 

"I wish you would put this much effort into your job. Why torment Linda of all people? She is a perfectly respectable human!" The orange-scarfed skeleton huffed, giving his brother a pointed look. 

"Let's just say I don't appreciate her trying to parent Frisk."

Homicide was minding his own business (eating cookies) when a blonde woman with the fakest looking _everything_ \- hair, nails, face, eyes, et cetera -approached him. She expression morphed into a mix between a sickeningly sweet smile and a sneer. "Ah, you are the missing brother I have heard so much about. My name is Linda, the school board director, and that over there is my son," She directed his attention toward the equally faux looking child. "Jimmy."

Homicide snorted and rolled his eyelights. "That abomination is yours? Ha! It is the ugliest thing I've ever laid eyes on, and I've seen burning taco covered in soy sauce, snails, and sequins. Where did you get it? A garbage heap?"

Linda sputtered at the comment, trying to think of a comeback.

"Oh, and look at that! It has the exact amount of brain cells you expect it to have." He gestured to the child shoving crayons in their mouth. "Probably going to grow up to spread frozen butter on toast. Or, better yet, die at a pitifully young age because it can't keep a fork out of an electrical socket! Would certainly save me the trouble of putting it out of its misery." 

The mother of said child looked aghast; Her face sheet white, wide eyes staring at Homicide in shock. 

"Don't forget to invite me to the funeral, Lindie. I wouldn't miss that party for anything. In fact, I may even bring a plus-one. Got a friend who knows how to have a _deathly_ good time at parties." He chuckled darkly before walking over to his own abomination, Frisk.

"This was a great decision." After whispered, gazing at the pure gold his phone recorded. "I'm gonna bring him back next month. Hellen will ' _love_ ' him." 


	9. Grand Theft Latte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequal to "How To (Attempt To) Socialize Your Glitch"; Prequel to "The PTA Meeting: Linda vs. Homicide." Homicide and Reaper are criminals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little silliness before I start working on requests.

Gangs and organized groups of criminals popped up in the Multiverse every once and awhile. Each had its own goal. World domination, extinction of humans, total reign over the Multiverse- Every psychopathic group had their equally crazy aims. Though, the strangest one yet involved a hot beverage, _coffee_. From latte-ceny (larceny) to cold-brewed murder, the odd crime syndicate committed every coffee-themed offense possible _and_ impossible. They were every barista's worst nightmare. People called these cappuccino-crazed monsters the ' _Mocha Marauders_.'

"Give me all the chocolate macchiato if you value your life, abomination!" Homicide growled, leaning over the cafe's counter and pressing his weapon against the barista's throat. 

Said barista, a young man who was not paid enough to be robbed by a skeleton wielding a soggy slice of bread, whimpered. Not because of the threats- goodness, no! The weapon was a _bread slice_. Far from the most intimidating thing in the world, yes? What he feared - what send utter shivers down his spine and turned his skin ghost-white - happened to be the cloaked monster standing behind the maniac. The skeleton monster resembled death itself. If looks could kill, the blazing blue eyelight would have murdered him twenty times over. 

Dusk descended upon the city; The setting sun painted the darkened sky with hues of orange and purple. Mocha Marauders' two leaders walked side-by-side on the empty street. Reaper glanced at Homicide, smirking as he watched the genocide skeleton enjoy the chocolate coffee drink. 

"You know," He started. "we should do this more often."

Homicide hummed in thought before shrugging. "Eh, sure. It's not like I'm doing anything else interesting. After ban me from watching TV because I ' _conspired with dark forces to kill our creator'_."

"It's a date, then." Reaper said, grinning. "I'll pick you up next Sunday at six o'clock. We can visit all the best coffee places in the Multiverse."


	10. Ink's Guide To Boredom: Getting Ban From The Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink isn't a great cook.

It was a peaceful - and subsequently boring - day in the Multiverse. Neither a tentacle or goo puddle could be found of Nightmare, which was odd for many reasons. Rumors from the grapevine said the dark terror had an ill follower. _And_ others told tales of an incident involving a pink dress. Needless to say, Ink did not believe any of the stories circulating the Multiverse. After all, Nightmare would look far better in a royal purple dress. Pink would clash too much with his weird sludgy coating. So, clearly, the dress story - much like the others - was false. 

As for his best friend and archrival, Error, an Undernovela marathon seized his undivided attention; The last time Ink saw the other he mentioned a new episode of the strange show... AU? Whatever it was. So, now the artist had no one to play with. He would visit another AU, but many placed a ban on him visiting when bored. Why? Who knows. Maybe it had something to do with the hairbrush, violin, and undead army/lich incident from last time.

Ink sighed and flopped onto his bed. _What do my friends do when they're bored?_

Following them would be the best way to find out. _However_ , that was considered 'stalking', and 'stalking' was bad. Therefore, this problem needed to be approached from a different angle. Instead of asking what they do, he should ponder what they like. _  
_

_Blue likes cooking. Maybe I should give that a try?_

Five hours passed, and finally, the perfect culinary creation sat before him. Ink stared in wonder at it. And he continued to do so until Dream sudden slammed open his front door with a fire extinguisher in hand. "Ink, are you ok-" The guardian of positivity yelped as a living blaze zipped by. "Is that flaming, winged toast?!"

"That?" Ink gestured to the fiery toast bats on his ceiling, causing a blaze. "Yeah, I got bored- It seemed like a great idea at the time, but they're just kind of annoying." 

Dream's eyes soon drifted to the magnificent dish on the partially burning counter. "What even is _that_?"

"A french bagel - You know, like french toast, but with a bagel - and some pierogies and soy sauce. Doesn't it look great!" 

The positive of the two skeletons sighed, aiming the fire extinguisher at the flames. "Ink... Please, for the love of all that is good, never cook again."


	11. The "I Funked Up" Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Error's a part of more than just the "Friend Club"; He's a part of a club solely consisting of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit this is a bit chaotic and weird.

The Anti-Void: A location known for being so bleak and silent it could drive a monster insane- And many did it claim. The unfortunate, the daring, the foolish... None could escape the white vastness's pull. For once caught, it was impossible to break free. A variety of monsters had been lost to the dreaded expanse. However, most were unknown. Never seen before by prying eyes. Forgotten as time passed on. Only a sole skeleton held the title ' _The Anti-Void's Resident_ '. Many feared him; Others sought to befriend him. Though, most agreed he was a danger not only to himself but to others.

Who was this monster? The psychopath known throughout the Multiverse? Some used to know him by the name Geno. Now he went by the moniker Error, The Destroyer of Worlds. And, on this very day, he called for a meeting of the highest order.

Silence was broken as chaos sounded throughout the Anti-Void. No, it was not caused by the errant voices screaming at their only listener. Error caused it. He _and_ the two other members of his club. 

"We sh-sh-should pour glitter into-to Nightmare's goop!" A glitchy skeleton shouted. Though a convincing look-a-like, this glitter-obsessed monster was not the Scourge of the Multiverse. His black bones and error signs may lead others to believe otherwise. However, there were enough differences to separate him from the destroyer: A pitch-black hoodie laid in place of Error's blue one (hood pulled over his head), matching solid black shorts covered his legs, and error signs/glitches were less pronounced. The doppelganger begrudgingly went by the name Xerox.

"Ugh-ugh, but we-e do th-that every Valentine's Day! Be-bedazzling Death's cloak would be-be way more fun-un; imagine him ru-running around-nd looking like a ch-child's failed art-art-t project. The other-er Gods would n-n-never let him-him live it down!" Error, the very first Genocide and Destroyer of Worlds, argued. 

"How about-" The duo's bickering cut off the echoing, fluctuating voice. It's owner - a white glitching skeleton with red/blue in his eye sockets and code running down his clothes and body - scowled in response, silently seething. 

"Replacing In-ink's ink with food col-ol-oring is a-a better id-idea!"

"No- Th-throwing him into-to Monochrometale is a bet-better idea! I-it-" 

"D-dream's recently deve-eloped a fear of-of toast-st-"

"-the-the bridge-dge of unadulterated a-agony-"

"-a des-deserted island with-ith a-a-a crazy, sentient pal-palm tree-"

"-flaming-ing bats!"

"-cow pri-print!"

"Enough!" Fatal roared, causing the two errors to quieten and turn to face him. "How about-" 

The glitch was interrupted once more. This time by the unique sound of a portal opening and aggravating voice whining, " _Error_ ," Ink step out of said portal with a pout on his obnoxious face. "I'm bored- Wait, there's two of you?! And who is the weird bloody, glitchy guy?" An hourglass spun in one eye socket while a question mark appeared in the other. 

Error knew exactly how to get rid of the other and keep his counterparts a secret. In fact, the method always worked. Despite its _abnormality_. He chuckled, "Oh, Ink-k, you moronic cre-creature- Even now-ow, true inte-el-elligence seems to-to escape you."

"What?" Ink asked, curiously, with not a single drop of offense. 

Xerox caught on to his plan and answered instead, "Tch, wh-what he's trying to-to s-say is: _You're-re dreaming, you i-idiot._ "

Ink frowned; a teardrop and broken heart formed in his eye sockets. "Oh... That makes sense. I think? And here I was looking forward to having two of you to play with from now on."

"J-just get the-the heck out a-and go back-back to your colorful-ful heckscape."

The trio watched as the dejected artist opened a portal beneath his feet and fell through. Once it closed, they collectively sighed a breath of relief. None of the Sanses were particularly fond of Ink. At all. One could even say they held a higher fondness for cockroaches when compared to how much they cared about the soulless creator. 

"Ok-okay, now that-at _that_ is settled- What-t were we-we talking ab-bout?" Error asked his two counterparts.

"Wreaking h-h-havoc and general-ral mischief." Xerox said, crossing his arms, likely still upset about the rejection of his glitter scheme. 

The renowned destroyer smirked evilly. "Good-good. What is on-n this week's age-agenda? A-a-any suggestions?" Xerox opened his mouth to speak, but Error quickly intervened. "Th-that do _n-not_ involve glit-t-ter."

Fatal jumped on the chance to speak and, _finally_ , tell the others his ingenious plan. "Nothing interesting has been happening in Undernovela-"

"Y-you take th-a-at back-back!" 

"-so, I think we should create our own drama." Fatal continued as if never interrupted. 

"And-d how would we-we do t-t-that?" Xerox pondered, slightly intrigued by the idea. 

Fatal elaborated, "Well, as you all know, Sci and Edge are still dancing around their feelings for each other, and UT!Gaster is still trying to create a love quadrilateral between Edge, Classic, Geno, and Sci. I say we add Dust, Killer, and Horror to the equation to create a love heptagon." 

Error raised an invisible eyebrow. "Would it-it even w-w-work?"

"I have confidence that it _will_. The whole reason UT!Gaster is attempting to spark a romantic war between them - aside from the fact his mind is disturbed - is because, in a temporal/dimensional sense, they're all the same skeleton. And he wants grandchildren. Very, very strange grandchildren. Dust, Killer, and Horror come from classic timelines gone wrong, so, technically, they are potential future versions of Sci. Meaning any children from them would be his grandchildren by default. Plus, it would be enjoyable to watch the added chaos."

"We're fu-future versions of-of Geno... W-w-wouldn't that mean-an..." Xerox trailed off. 

"Yeah-yeah, let's n-not mention any-th-thing regarding _that_ to-to any G-gaster." Error shuddered. "They'll pro-probably try t-to hook us-us up with-th Death." 


	12. Horseskeletons of The Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FGOD!Error finds himself with... _interesting_ companions. (AKA a short bout of randomness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a break from writing a more serious story to make something random and silly.

"How did my life become _this_?" Error groaned, holding his skull in his hands. 

The Anti-Void - his empty prison - had three new permanent residents. A crazed glitch (much like himself), some Horrortale abomination who was determined to kill anything and everything, and a childish virus that could wipe worlds clean. Said virus clung to him while the two others were at each others' throat, arguing about Fate. Apparently, they loathed her because she manipulated them and destroyed another AU. 

_I guess I need to put an end to their fight before they break something._

He gently gapped ahold of the white-boned skeleton attached to his waist, "Al-l-right, Pestilence, time to-to let go-o."

"That is not Paper Crane's name!" The newly dubbed Paper Crane pouted.

Error detached the other and approached the duo, "War, Famine- Break it up. I have no time for this, and no patience to deal with it."

Instead of stopping, the white-blue hooded glitch used his strings to pull Error closer and into a hug. His echoing voice rumbled, "Fear not, Brother. I shall protect you from this knave." 

"Yer bro's dead, idiot. Fate offed 'im" The Horrortale reject hissed, " 'sides, I saw 'im first!" With that said, he forcefully joined the, now very awkward, hug.

A gasp sounded. "HUGS!" And, now, Paper Crane had joined the group hug. 

Error stared at the ceiling of the Anti-Void, pondering many things. Was this Fate's revenge for the llama incident? Where did these skeletons come from? But, most importantly: _What has my life become?_


	13. 1K

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay!

One thousand reads/views? _One thousand!_ Honestly, that snuck up on me; I haven't even had time to prepare anything special. I suppose, though, I can start with this: Thank you for everything- all the lovely comments, kudos, views, and et cetera. It is truly heartwarming to know these silly little stories are enjoyed by others. In celebration of this monumental milestone, I'll be taking requests from June 2 to June 11. There aren't any rules aside from do _not_ request anything inappropriate/raunchy and only one-two requests per person.

Also, if I were to make a special story to celebrate this occasion, what would you guys like to see? An update to a preexisting story? An entirely new story? The sky is the metaphorical limit. 


	14. Request: Operation F.U.N. (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: What about one where Nightmare is captured by the Stars and they try to do 'Happiness Therapy'. Meaning Nightmare is stuck in a room that looks like a rainbow threw up happiness and stuffed animals. With Dream and Blue giving 'friendship lessons'. Nightmare has the most done attitude and is just Not Cooperating. NO dream i do not want to roleplay friendship with the stuffed bears. Dream, Dream get that fluffy ass sweater away from me, i don't care that it even has little sleeves for my tentacles, It Is BRIGHT FUCKING PINK. DO NOT TRY TO WIPE MY GOOP AWAY IT WON'T WORK, JUST LEAVE IT ALONE. God this happy hell can't get any worse. No, NO you did not just try to read fucking fluffy bunny to me, do you have no respect for who and what i am? 
> 
> (This glorious story was requested by BookwyrmFinallyGotAnAccount.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, BookwyrmFinallyGotAnAccount.
> 
> I'll be honest, I am not sure if this fully captures your request, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Footsteps beat against the ground- a lighter pair pursued by a set of three heavier ones. Local scenery flew by in the blink of an eye. Veil after veil of snowflakes danced along the howling winds, creating a blinding white haze. Snow-coated pine trees and shrubbery blurred from the sheer speed of the running monster: A slivery-boned skeleton, whos chaser were relentless. A viscous black ooze desperately clung to his being, caught in a perpetual cycle of dripping off his bones only to clasp back on; Two limp tendrils made from the substance trailed behind him. If one gazed upon the monster's face, they would see an odd cross between fright and a hateful scowl. 

Nightmare, the Guardian of Negativity, was the fleeing skeleton. A great fury only comparable to the one that plagued him in Dreamtale raged within his being. It burned in his soul and chest, festering like a planet-devouring sun hellbent on consuming the Earth with flame. Thought, despite the rise in internal negativity, he could not bring forth more power or repair his dark armor. How did this come to be? Dream, his self-proclaimed 'brother,' enlisted Sci to help 'fix' him. Meaning, the godforsaken scientist used the opportunity to create a device that would forcibly revert Nightmare to his uncorrupt form. The form of a _weak_ , _helpless child_. It worked. Partially. Nightmare's true appearance was revealed for all to see. (What he would give to go back and slap that pleased smile off Dream's face.) However, the black ooze refused to recede entirely. (The crestfallen expression the other wore nearly made up for his damned positivity.) It was a part of him; Dream was a fool for thinking otherwise, and forcibly attempting to separate him from himself.

 _If only my negativity wasn't so useless right now!_ Nightmare growled at the thought. He hated it, feeling so defenseless and easy to kill. It drew out the old insecurities and fears buried beneath a layer of negativity. 

_I swear if I ever get my hands on Sci - or Red, he'd be a good bargaining chip - I will show them a force more frightful than negativity and death combined!_

Of course, the forced shift in appearance and power was not the sole cause of his rage. Dream isolated him from his boys- Dust, Killer, Horror, and Cross. _And_ , threw each of them into different AUs, which were notoriously dangerous and difficult to escape from unscathed. Apparently, in the guardian's twisted, delusional mind, they were a 'bad influence'; Demons sent by Satan himself to ensure Nightmare stayed on the path of evil. A ludicrous notion by all means. Killer could be intimidated by a pickle jar. Cross had a cow phobia. Dust feared any and every spider (Muffet's fight was quite traumatic in his AU). Horror cried whenever he saw a trash can because ' _Nightmare, how can they be so heartless and throw away perfectly good food_.' His boys- Despite being cold-blooded murderers and advocates of negativity, they had the mentality of a man-child. If anything, Nightmare was a 'bad influence' on them. 

Suddenly liquid chains shot past the trees, knocking him roughly to the ground and pinning his body against the snowy surface. He squirmed and struggled. However, the black ink bindings merely tightened with each movement. 

_Funk!_

Nightmare's pursuers' footfall grew ever closer; The sound nigh thunderous in his invisible ears. Frantic beating from his dark soul shook his rib cage. He could _not_ allow the Star Trio to catch him. Given the circumstances, though, he may not have a choice. The chains tightened further with every additional thrash, squeezing around his body until the world began fading to black. As the world slowly dissipated, a hysterical voice sounded, "Ink, I told you to be gentle with him!" _  
_

"Wait, you did? Who are we chasing again? I forgot."

Two exasperated sighs followed, and then Nightmare heard no more as his consciousness got devoured by darkness. 

* * *

Nightmare awoke gradually, and groggily with a sharp tingle nipping at certain spots on his bones. It burned as if someone tore a layer of bone off and poured lemon juice on the wound. A pained hiss escaped. At the noise, something - likely someone - next to him started; The mattress beside him shifted, and a tiny bit of the pain vanished. It took some effort, but he managed to force his eye sockets open. Bright neon and pastel shades invaded his vision. A sparkling eyesore of rainbow stretched across the ceiling, running down the connecting wall. This room- Either his boys decided to play a sick prank him, or this was not his regal dwelling. Nightmare squinted and mumbled, "Where?" 

"Nighty!" 

_Dream! That means-_ "Ugh, I'm in hell." He groaned, wincing when moving a hand to his face. 

"No, brother, you're in the Star Council's rehabilitation ward." The obnoxious, yellow-clad guardian sat next to the bedside; Positivity oozed off his being and brightened the disgustingly happy smile on his jaws. The hand closest to Nightmare held a blackened washcloth. A bucket of murky water was on the nightstand a foot to the left. As he stared, he noticed a chunk of corruption floating on the water's surface. _Dream- that sick creep has been tearing off my magic!_ The slivery-boned skeleton was disgusted by the realization. _That_ explained why bones stung in certain spots. 

Shifting in the opposite direction, he growled, "Anywhere with _you_ is hell. And, considering your friends are likely here, that must make this purgatory!" 

Dream merely sighed and grabbed ahold of the nearest arm, pulling it closer. The wet, magic-tainted rag got threateningly close to a patch of negativity on the appendage before Nightmare snatched it back. Clutching the arm against his chest, he hissed, "Knock it off! The hell do you think you are doing?!"

"Just cleaning up the last of the corruption."

"Well, don't- If I were a mortal animal, you would be skinning me alive!"

Dream rolled his eyelights and waved a hand dismissively. "You're exaggerating." 

The skeleton foolishly attempted to wipe away the gunk once more. 

"Continue down this path, and I will find a way to transform you into a human solely to tear every strip of flesh off you." Nightmare threatened, enjoying the slight paling of the guardian's face. 

* * *

Dream departed at six O'clock in the afternoon- but not before trying to battle Nightmare's goop with that godforsaken washcloth, giving up when Nightmare violently snatched it and shoved it in his mouth. The sheer revulsion on Dream's face was a delight. And watching the other attempt to wipe the viscous substance off his tongue was even better. However, that was two hours ago; Those hours felt like an eternity. This childish, colorful hellscape held nothing to amuse the King of Darkness. The sinfully babyish bookcase displayed infantile book (bedtime stories, coloring books, and the like), without a single decent read among them. It was absurd. A waste of space and a disgrace to literacy. 

That, though, wasn't even the worst part: Stuff animals- plush creatures of all shapes, sizes, species, and colors surrounded him, watching with their beady black eyes. Nightmare would not admit it to anyone, not even his boys, but dead yet lifelike toys creeped him out. They looked like they would drag him into a rainbow and never allow him to leave. A shudder slid down his spine. _Torture, this must be a new form of torture. How could anyone - except for the insane - choose to live like this._ He glanced at yet another staring plush before fully turning away. 

_Next chance I get, I should find a sharp object and chop their heads off._ _Leave them for the Stars to find._

Nightmare's evil plotting was interrupted by a _click_ from the door handle. The gateway leading beyond his neon-pastel prison pushed open, revealing none other than _Blue_. 

Nightmare glared and hissed, "What do you want?" 

"Mweh-he-he, the magnificent Blue has come to read you a bedtime story of friendship!" The blue-clad skeleton grinned and produced a 'Fluffy Bunny' book from his inventory. Added more subtly after was, "Dream would do it in my stead, but he is still trying to wash the corruption out of his mouth."

 _Oh, heck no, you are not doing_ that _to me!_

That damned children's book would _not_ be read to him, Nightmare, the Lord of Darkness. His situation was demeaning enough already. But how to escape the torture? Glancing around the colorful hellscape, he found his eyes drawn to an unopened box of crayons. A devilish grin crossed Nightmare's skull as an idea came to mind. _  
_

"Hey, Blue, how about I read _you_ a story?"

"And then Fluffy Bunny _died_. The End!" He concluded, using the red crayon to draw 'X's over the cartoon rabbit's eyes and add gruesome details. Blue, who was tied to a wooden chair with a rainbow jump rope, sobbed silently. Big blue tears dripped from his unlit eye sockets. Nightmare made sure to lean closer so the other could get a good look at the picture's gory additions. The negativity received in return was delectable. Please with his work, he tossed the book on the floor and freed Blue from his bindings. The potentially traumatized skeleton immediately bolted, dashing across the room and throwing the door open before slamming it shut and locking it. Soon heartbreaking wails sounded on the other side. His grin's corners quirked up a fraction further. If they were going to make him miserable, then he'd return the favor tenfold. Nightmare wandered over to his bed and laid down, relishing the negativity in the atmosphere. 

_I guess children's stories can be fun._

"Nightmare, what did you do?!" Dream's scolding voice echoed from the adjacent room. _  
_

_Heh. Still worth it._

* * *

Nightmare stirred in the middle of the night. He tossed and turned in the overly fluffy bed, unable to get comfortable; Plagued by the overwhelming feeling that something was watching him. His eye sockets cracked open and- "Gah!" 

The Dark Lord threw out a hand, knocking away a beady-eyed stuffed animal that was certainly not there when he went to bed. 

_I'd much rather wake up to Killer watching me sleep. Not one of those things._

Glancing at the other plush creatures, he pulled the equally plush and colorful blanket over his head; as he did so, one thought came to mind: _This sucks. I hope the boys save me soon._


	15. Request: Operation F.U.N. (Part 2)

The next few days were an ordeal; A very unpleasant ordeal, at that. Ink had popped by every so often and attempted to coerce him into painting a colorful scenery. The artist yielded all efforts after being presented with an 'interesting' piece. Nightmare, being the Lord of Darkness and Nightmares that he was, decided to get back at him via a morbid painting of the Ink himself murdering Error. It was not well-received. Ink freaked out upon seeing it, threw up his namesake, and fled while repeating, ' _I have to find him!_ ' He'd been avoiding Nightmare ever since. Likewise with himself, as the avoidance was mutual. The whole situation- Everything didn't settle right after that, especially considering Error was still MIA and had been for a while.

Dream and Blue attempted to give him 'friendship lessons' and force him to participate in 'tea parties.' The parties, though, ended after Nightmare either threatened someone with a tea cake or listed horrible ways to kill and/or poison someone. Their expressions were priceless, mainly after he informed them of the toxicity of their favorite fruit and tuber. Blue balked at the news that tomatoes could, in fact, be deadly. (During a specific stage of growth and in a large quantity. However, they did not need to know that little detail.) He ruined potatoes for them in a similar fashion. Along with the tomato, it was a recognized member of the nightshade family; Bore a fruit reminiscent of a cherry tomato, which was ill-advised to consume. Neither skeleton would be able to view ketchup or mashed potatoes the same. 

Today, however, Nightmare faced a set of different, arguably more obnoxious trials. 

"Dream," Nightmare growled, warningly. His eyelights narrowed at the fluffy, pink/purple-colored atrocity the guardian presented him. The cheery grin on the other's face made him want nothing more than to slap it off and watch him cry. " _no_."

The overly positive skeleton pouted, staring at him with big puppy-dog eyes. "But you haven't even tried it on yet! And it's so snuggly- like a constant hug!"

"Are you sure this absurdity isn't a new form of torture? This feels like a new torture method." The Guardian of Negativity spat as he stepped back a few paces, gazing at the offending article with suspicion. He could not fathom why someone would want an amaranthine embrace. 

_It would be like another living creature eternally invading my personal space._ Nightmare gave it a brief yet considering look. _Maybe I should keep it and make the boys wear it when they misbehave; What better punishment than to feel like an invisible being is affixed to you? Like a foe who's forever stalking you, and no matter how far you run, you can not escape._

 _...No._ _  
_

_I'll burn it later. No one deserves that level of punishment._ _  
_

A sigh sounded in the disgustingly cheery-themed room. Dream ceased all attempts to guilt Nightmare into wearing the sweater and pulled it close to his chest. Then, with all the sincerity he could muster, said, "I swear, Nightmare, it is not torture in any way, shape, or form. Why can't you trust me on this?"

"A likely story- Besides, since when are you a good judge of character. Those villagers you befriended were not the noblest or kindest of people." The silvery-boned skeleton laughed humorlessly. "In fact, one could argue that they couldn't grasp the concept."

His opposite flinched, peering down at the ground as if he wanted nothing more than for it to swallow him whole. Silence stretched between them. Neither spoke. Neither tried. Eventually, Dream fled with his metaphorical tail between his legs, leaving Nightmare to stew alone in his happy little hell until lunchtime. 

Lunch was an easy-going affair. Uneventfully, at the most- That was until a particular yellow-clad skeleton made it his life's goal to pester Nightmare. Said dark lord begrudgingly sat in a colorful plastic chair with a sippy cup of pink lemonade; A plate of smiling sandwiches laid before him. It was primarily untouched. He'd eaten a variety of different foods over the years, but eating something highly reminiscent of a face was a line he dared not cross. Dream, the horrid creep born from the same tree as him, seated himself on the opposite side of the table. The very ugly, plastic rainbow table. 

And Nightmare had more than enough of his incessant chattering, well-meant questions, happy attitude, and brilliant smile. 

Glaring at the walking, talking ray of sunshine, he growled, "You are _killing_ me with 'kindness'; I demand you stop!"

"What's the magic word?" Dream said in an irritatingly sing-songy voice. 

"Shove a _%$@* &_ up your _# &@_!"

The Guardian of Positivity paled and scooted his chair back ever-so-slightly. " _Ooookkay..._ 'Please.' The magic word is 'please.' We'll- uh, let's work on proper manners later."

Dream then poked at his food for a while before fleeing once more. A smirk crept onto Nightmare's skull as he watched the happy-go-lucky skeleton leave due to discomfort.

* * *

Another night came and went, taking another portion of Nightmare's sanity with it. His saintly patience was running out. Fast. He hoped his boys would rescue him by now, but there was nay glimpse of them to be seen or found, which led to many worries about their wellbeing. Dust, Killer, Horror, and Cross could hold their own, but for how long? Were they hurt? Dead? Were they still trapped in separate AUs? Did they escape? If so, did they not know where Nightmare was trapped? The Lord of Darkness loathed not knowing the status of his boys. Curse Dream, and his stupid idea to separate him and his boys.

As the day continued, it merely got worse. After yesterday's trials, Nightmare thought his imprisonment couldn't get any more damning. He was wrong.

Blue skipped into the hellish room half passed noon with important news. At first, he hesitated to speak and stood far away from the darker before moving a single step closer and quietly relaying the message. "Hey, Nightmare, a guest is coming over today."

The Lord of the Night eyed Blue, skeptically. "What kind of guest?"

"Oh, well, I'm glad you asked! A friend from Aftertale needs us to babysit someone for the day. Apparently, everyone else refused to look after him." The blue-clad skeleton added the last sentence as a whisper. However, Nightmare heard him regardless.

"Hell will freeze over before I agree to watch a _child_."

"Come on, Nightmare! It will be a good learning experience. Plus, you might even become friends!"

A growing dread ached in his chest at a sudden realization. "No, no, no- you did not set me up on a playdate, did you?!"

Blue shuffled his feet nervously, glancing down at the ground instead of Nightmare; A gloved hand twitched before creeping upward to scratch at his neck. "Err, well, if it makes you feel better, I think you two will get along perfectly fine. The monster coming over- He has an acquired sense of humor, like you. Not to mention, he tried to stab Ink and Dream and me. So, try? To be nice? Please." 

The day crept on painfully slowly. An agonizing hour later and the Star Sanses' new charge arrived. Though Nightmare got permission to exit his room and 'learn the niceties of interacting with another monster,' he remained there. Yes, this was an opportunity to scope out an area other than the colorful-themed room. The silvery-boned skeleton, however, refused to yield to Dream or Blue's efforts. He would not participate in a _playdate_. His physical appearance may be that of a child, but he was not about to start acting like one. And certainly not after the most positive of them all attempted to coddle him.

Unfortunately, Nightmare had to admit the 'guest' sounded very interesting. Curse words and crashes echoed from the outer room the moment they arrived; Often followed by the scolding of Dream or Blue, while Ink encouraged the other's violent behavior, which ended with him being scolded as well. The temptation to get to know this mysterious monster grew. Nightmare struggled to ignore it. This monster- they could be a great addition to his team. Plus, his boys had been begging him for another brother. It would be a win-win... if not for the fact Dream would perceive the event as a small victory. He very well couldn't give the creep that, now could he? As the saying went, 'give them an inch, and they'll take a mile.'

 _Bang!_ His prison's door flung open, and a figure rushed in. A skeleton with a crazed grin, dressed like he successfully mugged Geno and lived to tell the tale. (A impressive feat. The second Aftertale Sans was notoriously brutal during combat; Known for giving Death himself a run for his money.) Nightmare could only watch in bewilderment and shock as the skeleton saw a unicorn plush and proclaimed, "Stabbed horse!"

"The funk?!", slipped passed the negative guardian's jaws. Who was this skeleton? Why were they referring to a unicorn as a 'stabbed horse'? And, how mentally sound were they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*Homicide has joined the party._


	16. Request: Operation F.U.N. (Part 3.1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by impatience.

A second passed before the intruder - and, hopefully, savior - noticed his presence in the room. He turned to Nightmare and blinked a few times as if the notion of a person residing here was absurd; To be fair, it was. The Guardian of Negativity would sooner choose to live in a musty, filthy alleyway in Underfell then this rainbow hell. His unwarranted visitor openly stared at him, looking over every detail with a calculating eye. The foreign eyelights lingered on the two limp tendrils attached to his lower back. Then they slowly moved up, inspecting every detail, until they reached his face. And- The stranger doubled over and started laughing hysterically. Nightmare had never felt more insulted. Did this monster not know who he was?! How dare he laugh in the face of Nightmare- The Lord of Darkness and Guardian of Negativity?!

He bristled and puffed up, which made the monster laugh even harder. 

"Ha! The look on your face," The strange skeleton chuckled, wiping a tear from their eye socket. "priceless. Yo- you... Heh-he, you look like a tiny angry kitten!"

Before the dark guardian could formulate a threat in response, a yellow blur burst into the room. The blur - now still enough to be distinguished as Dream - positioned himself between Nightmare and the insolent intruder. A deep scowl rested on his skull. Glancing down, Nightmare noticed the other had something grasped tightly in one hand. It was... a spray bottle? 

_Woah. Dream has truly lost his mind. What on earth does that idiot expect a spray bottle to do to a skeleton?_

The two fools had a staredown; Each waiting for the other to make the first move. The tension between them was palpable. A hostile aura sparked to life as the seconds passed. The Guardian of Positivity made his move, breaking the silence with a few words, "Homicide," Dream's tone held the scolding of an enraged, overprotective mother. "leave my brother alone!" 

_Homicide_ , Nightmare thought. _Interesting. So that is the name of the monster who dares to mock me. Given the title and outfit, perhaps he does come from an Aftertale... Though, I was unaware there is more than one. Did Ink create another? Surely not. Geno would kill him if he did that._

_I wonder, would he have the same weaknesses? I should test that theory; Get back at him for laughing in my face._

The skeleton in question wore a brief look of shock. When Dream lifted the spray bottle and aimed it at him, it shifted to utter hatred; Nightmare could feel the strength of the emotion perfectly. Such potent negativity was no doubt afflicting the positive guardian. Then, with speed only seen harnessed by a hyper Underswap Sans, Homicide dashed out of the room, hissing and screeching like a demon crawling out of hell. Dream rushed out after him, declaring, "If you don't start behaving, I will tell After to extent the 'no TV' punishment."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the Lord of Darkness to his own devices. He stood silently and listened to the ensuing chaos. 

"Homicide- No, no, no, anything but the vase!"

_Crash!_

"Dream, are you destroying things?!" Ink, for some odd reason, asked excitedly.

"Ugh! No, Ink. Why can't you just drop that?"

"Dream is lying! He's breaking everything in here!" The following racket sounded like a symphony of shattering porcelain.

Nightmare smirked. The Star Simpletons would be distracted for quite a while if the anarchy beyond the door was any indication.

It was time to plot his revenge. 

The slivery-boned skeleton sat on the edge of the overly fluffy bed and pondered, _what is the best way to get revenge?_ To his knowledge, Homicide was an Aftertale Sans- a very deranged, violent Aftertale Sans; The Geno of the AU. However, where did he come from? A plethora of alternate universes existed. The likelihood his foe hailed from a Classic timeline gone wrong was slim. And, in the event that he did, there could still be enough variations to alter the entire AU; any number of things could be different- Whether it be the core AU or the way events transpire. That made Nightmare's goal harder, as it would be impossible to discern the other's weaknesses without getting to know him. 

_Wait- That's it!_

The perfect, most ingenious plan: Nightmare would befriend this skeleton, learn his weaknesses, and use them against him to exact his revenge. 


	17. Request: Operation F.U.N. (Part 3.2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied- this isn't the final part. Well, not in its entirety. The last bit I need to write is giving me a little trouble, so I opted to post what I have written thus far. Hope you enjoy it!

Sometime later (after the chaos settled), Nightmare enacted the first step in his plan: Getting Blue to set up a formal meeting for him and Homicide. Or, as the imbecile called it, a 'playdate.' Everything went smoothly. More so than anticipated. Blue said nothing about the 'playdate' to Dream; Likely content keeping it to himself or afraid of inciting another impromptu, gory bedtime story. He had half-expected the cerulean blabbermouth to burst from excitement and tell the entire Multiverse. His reputation as the vilest, most frightful creature in the Multiverse would be in ruins if such a thing came to pass. Luckily, Nightmare didn't have to worry about that at the moment. Revenge was his main priority. And, if Blue got the bright idea to go behind his back and soil his reputation- well, the Star Sans would not like the outcome. 

With that handled, now all the dark aura-ed skeleton needed to fret about was dealing with that impudent fool, _Homicide_. The other was the wild-card of all wild-cards, vastly unpredictable and put the 'danger' in 'dangerous.' Their meeting could go one of two ways: successful or wrong to the point Nightmare would have to fight off the other. He greatly hoped for the former. His current state handled combat poorly, and he only had so much magic to spare. (All thanks to that annoying imbecile, Dream.) Not to mention, the whole point of setting up a stupid 'playdate' was to 'befriend' Homicide and discover his weaknesses, which would be impossible if the lunatic wants to kill him. And an utter waste of Nightmare's effort if it were to fail. 

A gentle knock sounded from the direction of the door, likely Blue with his soon to be 'friend.' The Guardian of Negativity smirked. 

_Time to put my ingenious plan into action._

The hellish, color-laden prison's door handle turned before a living force pushed the barrier open from the other side. Once agape, Blue and Nightmare's foe, Homicide, were revealed to be standing in hall connected to the cheery room. Homicide, from what he could tell, looked less than pleased by the situation. An expression of discontent sat on his skull- teeth turned down, eyes narrowed in Nightmare's direction. One would assume the other was angry. However, the second Guardian of Emotions knew better than to jump to conclusions. The emotions radiating from Homicide told a completely different story. Mild irritation (at Blue), curiosity, pride, and mischievousness swelled in him. _  
_

_Perfect_ , Nightmare thought. _His own curiosity toward me will be an aid in his downfall._

The bloody-jawed Sans cautiously stepped into the room. Promptly after beyond the threshold, Blue swiftly slammed the door shut with a near incomprehensible, "Okay, you two have fun, don't kill each other, bye!" _  
_

" _Rude_." Homicide grumbled.

Nightmare found that he agreed with that sentiment. The Star Sans could have stayed for a moment longer and given them a proper introduction, at the very least. But instead, he fled with his tail between his legs. 

An awkward silence fell upon the room. The two skeletons had somewhat of a stare-off, using the opportunity to inspect each other. Homicide's white eyelights bore into his bones as he continued to search for a sign of _something_. What that something was, Nightmare had no clue. A few uncomfortable seconds later, he decided to take a civil approach and broke the deafening quiet. "Homicide, was it?" 

The other crossed his arms and huffed. "Unfortunately. Even though I'm the first Geno, I can't have that moniker because some filthy glitch claimed it before me!" An evil grin spread across his face before he quietly added, "But he can't keep it if he is dead."

Nightmare felt his eye sockets narrow. "I think I'm starting to understand why they have you here..."

"My charm and good looks?" Homicide questioned with a cocky smirk. 

His jaw nearly dropped in disbelief. Surely, the monster was not conceited enough to believe that. "What- No, You're crazy."

The bloody skeleton snickered and struck a dramatic pose. "Crazy good-looking?"

"Ugh, you are impossible." Nightmare groaned, rolling his eyelights. 

Homicide dropped the pose and smiled, rubbing his chin with one hand. "Impossibly handsome, you mean."

In his mental space, Nightmare completed the equivalent of sighing and facepalming simultaneously, wondering in abject fear: _Oh, stars, what horrors have I brought upon myself?_

Despite the rocky start, the evening went fairly well- So well, in fact, that Nightmare completely forgot about his brilliant plan. He was too caught up in chatting with the crazy skeleton to even consider it. They talked and talked, up until it was time to part ways for the night.

Darkness fell upon the sky as the sun had long since set, stars danced and shimmered along the blackish-blue horizon- Not that Nightmare could see it. His room, unfortunately, lacked windows. That fact merely served to sour his mood further. A glass-covered opening would make for the perfect escape route or, at the very least, give him something less repulsive to look at. The dark guardian's eye sockets narrowed at the multicolored mobile dangling from the ceiling above him. It was ridiculous, infantile; Exactly like everything else in his prison. He loathed it. A window - even if impassible and secured with magic proof iron bars - would be a blessing. How he wished for a little peek into the real, unfanciful world. But, knowing Dream, he would have had Ink put a colorful faerie garden or unicorn-housing forest outside. Probably a few permanent rainbows too. Thus, ruining a perfectly good view with childish whimsy. It would undoubtedly be the inspiration for every fantasy-related air-brush painting worn by vans across the Multiverse. 

"When will I escape this hell?" Nightmare groaned, exasperatedly. He then proceeded to smother his skull with an overly fluffy pillow.

Though the lids of his eyes felt heavier and heavier with the passing hours, sleep still managed to evade the negativity-controlling skeleton. Resentment boiled in his soul- hate for that self-proclaimed 'brother' of his, for the uncomfortably soft bed beneath him, for the damned night-light in the corner of the room; most importantly, hate and jealousy for the Star Sanses. The accursed trio and the buildings other residents had succumbed to slumber ages ago. A peaceful, undisturbed slumber based on the ease in their emotional states. If Nightmare had the strength to spare, he would send each and every one of those idiots a dream containing their deepest, darkest fears. Sadly, he was saving up his energy in hopes of gaining enough power to break free. Meaning: No tormenting the subconsciouses of his foes unless he wanted to prolong his escape. 

A growl tumbled out his throat. His silvery-toned phalanges dug into the pillowy object covering his face, causing the delicate fabric to tear. Channeling his built-up aggression, he swiftly righted himself and chucked the pillow with all his might. It flew to the opposite side of the room. Directly on its course was a pile of stuffed animals, which prevented it from hitting the wall and toppled over when the projectile made contact. One by one, the plush creatures fell to the floor with a light _thud_. Then silence encompassed the room once more. Nightmare simmered. The display was unimpressive and not nearly as therapeutic as he hoped.

_That was anticlimactic._

Suddenly a chilling voice echoed throughout the cheery expanse, with no discernable point of origin. Its tone deep, almost otherworldly and admittedly intimidating as it spoke words only heard in horror movies, "Oh, Nighty, don't you want to play with me? _**A G A M E J U S T F O R T H E T H R E E O F U S**._" _  
_

Nightmare stiffened, unconsciously pulling the sheets closer and wrapping them around himself like a protective barrier. The delicate soul in his chest beat faster with each passing moment. Every following _thump-thump_ it produced, roared in his nonexistent ears and broke the deafening silence shrouding the room. Eyelights darting about, he examined every inch of his rainbow hell, searching and searching for an unseen enemy (or enemies). Alas, it was to no avail. Much to his dismay. The only thing mildly threatening within sight was the damned, beady-eyed stuffed animals- the ones Dream insisted on plaguing him with. However, an unnatural presence hung in the air. An aura that reeked of bloodlust and malice; Not to mention, _LOVE_. The foul kind that symbolized a being's capacity to kill. He was embarrassed to admit that he, Nightmare, Lord of Darkness, felt... _afraid_. Held fear for his life. 

_Are the stuffed animals haunted? Angry that I disturbed their resting place._

_No. Nightmare, don't be stupid. Dream wouldn't put me in danger like this. Would he? He is a self-righteous moralist; if he thought a risky tactic would make me turn over a new leaf, he might try it._ _  
_

Soul pounding, he let the blankets fall away and puffed out his chest. Sweat soon began to form at the base of Nightmare's skull as he donned a (fake) confident and composed expression. A chill crept ever-so-slowly down his spine. Thereafter, a tingling sensation inched across his bones- like the eyes of a predator were meticulously examining him, _their prey_. Smaller bones clinked together, creating a slight rattling sound. Nightmare quelled it by forcing his bones to still. He would not let Dream, or whatever this was, get the best of him; make him show signs of fear. _  
_

"I-if this is some k-kind of crazy attempt t-to scare me into acting nicer, i-it isn't going to work. You hear that, Dream. I-it won't work!" The Guardian of Negativity yelled, false bravado failing him before the first sentence. 

A dark chuckle sounded from the room's four corners. Nightmare sensed a faint trickle of amusement in the hidden being's emotional maelstrom. Barely, though. Between the enmity and bellicosity, it was nigh impossible to detect. Either way, he couldn't decide whether that amusement was a good thing or a very, very bad thing. Judging by the next words they spoke, it sided far beyond very, very bad. "Dream? A dreamer? No, no, no- Here, there is only **_N I G H T M A R E S_**."

At the end of the bed, a shadowy hand arose from the murky depths and clawed at the sheets, causing a horrid ' _sccchhtt'_ sound with each new tear. The Lord of Darkness could have done many things in this situation. For example: screamed at the top of his lungs, flung a barrage of magical attacks at the appendage, or struck it with a pillow. He, unfortunately, did none of the above. Nightmare completely froze up. His bone stiffened like ice, soul pounding dangerously loud in his skull. The few remaining tendrils he had hardened to perform an attack they were currently incapable of doing. Thoughts ran rampant in the frightened skeleton's mind.

_No._

_No._ _  
_

_No._ _  
_

_Dream isn't behind this, is he? He may be an utter creep and morally ambiguous, but he would not do this. Not to me. However, if he isn't, then why hasn't he sensed my negativity and bust open the door to make sure I'm okay?_ _  
_

_That wouldn't matter unless..._ _  
_

_The creature creeping up the bed got to him and the other Star Sanses first._ _  
_

The shock of realizing that no backup was on the way happened to be enough to shake Nightmare out of his stupor. Once motionless bones began to rattle together, echoing throughout the mostly quiet room. Quick puffs of air forced their way out from between his jaws. His soul, the purest essence of his being, relentlessly sounded. _Thump-thump_. _Thump-thump_. _Thump-thump_. And, refused to stop. Fear still resided in Nightmare- along with wariness and apprehension. Emotions such as those were difficult to triumph. _To a mere mortal_. Given who he was, it would be a disgrace to allow his very source of power to determine his downfall. _  
_

With a newfound flame burning for survival, the weakened skeleton summoned a magical construct in his left hand. A razor-sharp bone able to fit comfortably in his hand, similar to a knife. Pinprick small eyelights wavered yet firmly gazed at the appendage encroaching on the bed. He angled the magical blade in its' direction. It had no reaction other than to continue its' creeping ascent. Nightmare warily eyed his foe, conflicted on whether or not he should move closer to strike it. Before he could decide, the appendage quickened its' pace, darting toward him at a frightening speed. In mere seconds, it broke free from the shadows and skittered into the light. The night-light's yellow glow revealed it to be a scarred white skeleton arm with a deep crimson liquid dribbling down the phalanges, ulna, and radius. 

The sinister voice promptly called, "Well, little nightwalker, what is your answer?"

Startled, Nightmare strengthened his grip on the magic weapon, as his trembling hands threatened to drop it. He swiftly raised the blade and aimed at the foreign arm, intent on attacking. While the bone descended, on route for slashing his target's radius, a second hand appeared out of thin air and intercepted the weapon before it was able to connect. The bloody, white phalanges wrapped tightly around his armed hand. They squeezed harshly, preventing Nightmare from pulling his hand away to perform another attack. A strangled sound erupted from his throat as he choked down a shriek. An efforts to escape the strong grasp were to no avail. Nevertheless, that did not stop him from frantically tugging his arm back in a desperate attempt to free it.

During Nightmare's struggle, the first hand planted itself firmly on the bed and started pushing up, causing a figure lurched from the shadows. They screamed, "Do you want to play a game?!"

At the same time, the trapped skeleton howled, " _Funking hell_ _!_ "

In a panic, he used what little magic he had been able to save up to summon two gaster blasters; they charged slowly but steadily, releasing the sharp scent of ozone. Then Nightmare took a moment to examine his soon to be blasted foe. A blazing blue/red eyelight, blood laden jaws, manic grin- _Homicide! It was that bloody Aftertale Sans the whole time._

The demonic dragon skulls gradually fizzled out and vanished into nothingness, and with them went the bone attack he summoned earlier. Negativity's guardian blinked at the insane skeleton, at a loss for words. His posture instantly deflated. Shoulders slackening, captured arm falling limply to the side once the other released it. The wicked pressure bearing down on him disappeared entirely. Almost like it was never there. _  
_

_The boys would love him, especially Killer_ , Nightmare's subconscious begrudgingly added. The little hellkite pulled similar pranks all the time. Notably around the holiday months when monsters and humans were most susceptible to the seemingly supernatural. Several alternate universes even worshipped the void-eyed skeleton's eerie personas: Underswap #XXXX26's legendary Halloween spirit, Deadlock, and Undertale #XXXX53's dreaded Christmas ghoul, Eidolon, and Underfell #XXXX94's horrible hall-haunting hugger, Moor, to name a few. Failing to pay tribute to a respective figure caused terrible 'hauntings' to occur. Harmless stuff like moving furniture a foot left/right, silently lurking in hallways, suddenly hugging people (Underfell residents loathe and fear that), nearly scaring the life out of someone if they were highly disrespectful, and et cetera. Homicide already proved to be extremely skilled in one of those.

Together, Homicide and Killer would be a force to be reckoned with. 

As if the universe were trying to prove that further, his scarer, for whatever ungodly reason, produced two middle phalanges from a coat pocket. Then the skeleton practical shoved them into Nightmare's face and cheerily cried, "Look at what I got!"

If it were possible to crash like Error, he would have. There was just too much to try to comprehend. Numerous thoughts and questions ran through his mind as Homicide proudly displayed his prize. Did the skeleton not understand how grave the situation had been? How close Nightmare got to turning him into a smudge of dust and ash? Where was the other's concept of self-preservation? Why did he have someone else's phalanges, and who did he take them from? A nervous itch tickled the back of his neck. The kind that only happened when Dust, Killer, Horror, or Cross did something exceptionally ill-considered. Coupled with that and Nightmare's tendency to parent his boys, it prompted him to snap and lecture the bloody Sans. "The funk is wrong with you! You're lucky I didn't skewer you alive or blast you into oblivion. Next time, consider the strength of your foe before tormenting them in the middle of the night. It may just save your life." 

A majority of the silvery-boned skeleton's scolding went in one metaphorical ear and out the other. The other monster seemed more preoccupied with considering the first sentence as if it was a legitimate question. "A lot of things- oh, wait, are you talking about the fingers? I don't see a problem with this. It's not like Ink ever used them. Plus, he literally can't give a funk anymore." While snickering, the bloody glitch waved the two amputated digits in the air to emphasize his point. 

Nightmare took a deep breath and sighed. "Homicide, you are a strange, strange skeleton with morals that not even I can comprehend. Join my gang."

_At least if he is one of us, I can keep him out of trouble- or get dragged into it with him._

Homicide drew his finger-clutching hand towards his chest, and a thoughtful expression flashed across his face before becoming unreadable. There was nothing (necessarily) worrying about the emotions coursing through him- mainly mischievousness and pride; a steady hatred for Ink's face, too, for some reason. Perhaps a grudge against Blue as well. _  
_

A roguish smirk settled on the skeleton's jaws, and in a confident tone, he answered in the least expected way possible. "Hmm, no. If anything, _you_ should join my gang- Do you like coffee?"

The guardian's sockets widened slightly. That certainly was an unexpected turnaround: to offer Nightmare a place in his own gang instead of joining Nightmare's. It was so out of nowhere that he couldn't help feeling disbelief. 

_He has a gang?_ Him _, the skeleton who doesn't even know the proper word for 'unicorn'?_

_How?_

_And why is he asking about coffee?_ _  
_

Nightmare's brow scrunched, teeth turned down in a slight frown. "What does that have to do with anything?" _  
_

He honestly wanted to know. Unfortunately, Homicide seemed to be in no mood to tell him. 

"Answer the question!" His surprise recruiter demanded, a subtle growl tumbling out after. 

"Sheesh! Okay, I enjoy coffee every so often. Happy?" The dark lord raised his hands in a symbol of defeat, hoping to placate the crazy Aftertale Sans.

The other grinned and rubbed his hands together, evilly- not unlike that of a cartoon villain. With a devious gleam in his eye sockets, Homicide stated in an ominous tone, " _Very_." 

Nightmare could only shudder and worry about what was to come. 


	18. Request: Operation F.U.N. (Part 3.3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the final-final part of "Operation F.U.N."

**Later, after an elaborate escape that involved toothpaste, a garden hose, and Death.**

Nightmare silently stood in the background, arms crossed, leaning against a wall; His eyelights scanned the new environment. First of all, it was far more visually appealing than the Star Sanses' rainbow seizure hell. And not nearly as blindingly bright or claustrophobic. It was a rather large room. Almost Greek Revival-like in style, but still quite different in design- like someone mashed their favorite architecture types together. High walls stretched more than several feet above. A rich mocha colored them, accented by a cream white wall trim. The ceiling they led to had many decorative wooden roof supports. Brass/copper chains hung on the supports, holding lanterns crafted from the same metal. Each lighting fixture varied in size and held a candle burning with magical flames. 

Coffee and tortilla shaded tiles checkered across the area of the floor. No rugs or carpet adorned the square/rectangle stones. Two curved staircases sat at the back of the room, leading up a small platform with a rounded balcony attached. Hung on the wall behind was an elaborate tapestry. Various things were embroidered into the fabric: Coffee plants, beans, a coffee cup with hot steam wafting off it- Just overall coffee related things. 

The Lord of Darkness turned his attention to the inhabitants of the building. Many different monsters - primarily Sanses and the occasional Papyrus - were bustling about, standing in groups/chatting with each other, or sipping on a fresh cup of coffee. It was a sight to behold; A strange one, at that. Various powerful, intimidating monsters lurked amidst the crowd. He could recognize a few such as Color, Fresh, Death (for obvious reasons), and- Wait, was that Blue? Upon closer inspection, the skeleton did not appear to be the Star Sans; Rather, he was a casually dressed Underswap Sans with a pistol holstered on his side. Nightmare sputtered and did a double-take. Indeed, the Swap skeleton was armed and coolly talking to a Mafiafell Sans. 

_That... is unexpected._

Done staring at the spectacle, he directed his attention elsewhere. An intriguing group stood nearby; A few inches over to be exact. None of the members sparked a hint of recognition in his mind. However, one, in particular, was a dark glitching skeleton that looked similar to the missing destroyer, _Error_. Pitch black attire clothed the other. The hoodie's hood completely covered his skull and shrouded his face, making it impossible for Nightmare to check for tear marks. Error symbols glitched around him, but they were far more subtle than the real Error's. He quietly pondered whether or not his colleague knew of the doppelgänger's existence. Likely not. If Error did, then Nightmare and the gang would have gotten an earful about it. 

A second oddity stood directly to the monster's left: Another male skeleton, who also had bones as dark as onyx and flickering symbols; Unlike his comrade in err, he did not hide a single aspect of his appearance. A wide grin stretched across the other's skull. His yellow/magenta eyelights randomly changed between dots and stars, and little yellow stars rested around his eye sockets (three on the right and one on the left). The color residing behind the nasal cavity and eye sockets was solid blue while the teeth took on a lighter shade. Sky blue, perhaps? Probably not, Nightmare could hardly differentiate white from eggshell white. The second glitch spoke very animatedly with the doppelgänger, waving arms and making hand gestures for emphasis. It was somewhat reminiscent of a Papyrus or Swap Sans. Given the short stature and signature grin, Swap Sans seemed more likely. Especially when factoring in the other's 'battle body.' A primarily black version of Blue's outfit with hints of blue, red, and yellow.

The error Swap glanced to the side and met his eyelights as if he knew Nightmare was staring in his direction. Then, grin widening a fraction further, he winked at the dark lord before taking a step to the side and returned to his conversation with the doppelgänger. A certain feeling of perturbment crept in the background. Unease settled in Nightmare's nonexistent stomach. Those actions could not be anything other than deliberate. No one suddenly decides to wink at a random person in the room. The silvery-boned skeleton shuddered at the realization that, although he was discreet, the monster recognized (perhaps from the very beginning) he had an audience. 

_In a room containing a minimum of fifty monsters, he managed to pick me out of the crowd. Effortlessly, at that._

_I should be cautious around him. He is not the kind of monster I want to make my enemy._

Slowly, Nightmare shifted his gaze to the newly revealed spot. That single step exposed yet another glitchy skeleton: A poor soul that held the expression of a monster who wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. 

_How many of these glitches are there? If there are these three - plus Error, where ever he is - then has to be more; each looks like an AU variant of some kind. But that makes no sense. Error has no AU, only the Anti-Void. Do they spawn in the Anti-Void at random then?_

_Does Error even know about them?_

_...That blank hellscape of his is so vast they may have never crossed paths, and he doesn't exactly make a habit of exploring the place._

_Could he have been hiding them from me-_ the gang _and me?_

Nightmare shook his head in an attempt to chase the thought away. No. Just _no_. The destroyer may not be a member of their tight-knit group, but he was still semi-close to them. Enough so that they rely on each other during the occasional battle against the Star Sanses. Besides, Error was too 'in the moment' and rash to be deceitful or sneaky. Information of this nature would have been shared long ago, especially considering how Error loved to rant and rave about abominations. 

He quickly went back to focusing on the new glitchy Sans. Negativity practically encompassed the other's soul. It reeked of self-loathing, resentment, hatred (directed at Error's lookalike for some reason), loss, and _determination_. Instead of black/multicolored bones like the other two, he had sheet-white bones and a splash of crimson caused by the blood dripping from his jaws; colored squares and rectangles glitched to and fro, mainly around his body. A red slash hovered in front of his chest.

_A red slash..._

The Guardian of Negavity's eye sockets widened. _Hold on- This is another Aftertale Sans. Where are they coming from?! A secret experiment gone wrong? An unfinished AU? No. No. There is no way Ink created them. Not with the looming threat of Geno beating him to a pulp and turning him into his namesake._

_Is the Anti-Void making them, too?_

Nightmare frowned and continued to examine the Sans. His red and blue eye sockets were always in motion, ones and zeroes running behind the numeric-shaped eyelights. Green colored binary code danced along the black shirt and shorts beneath his white lab coat. Crimson blood tainted the snow white of his fluffy slippers and trickled on the tile floor below. 

_I feel sorry for the monster that has to clean that up_ , Nightmare thought. 

Suddenly anxiety spiked amidst the valley of emotions. The glitchy skeleton jolted, strange box-shaped glitches shifting in a sporadic, almost painful-looking way. They promptly stepped to the side and returned to hiding behind the Swap error. An odd reaction. However, the other appeared to dislike being surrounded by so many monsters. Not a phobia per se, more like severe apprehension. Nightmare sighed and allowed his gaze to wander from the trio. As much as he would enjoy picking at the monster's fears, it was a pointless endeavor at the current moment and a waste of time. His eyelights flitted from one group of monsters to the next. While unique and unknown to him, none were particularly worthy of further examination; most seemed to be AU variants he had not encountered before. Though, the weird Sans holding a sock puppet and screaming gibberish was mildly amusing. 

The guardian's frown deepened. He would never admit it, but a hint of jealousy arose as he eyed Homicide's mass collection of followers. At least a few hundred dwelled in the enormous building- bustling about, chattering, working together, bring the entire place to life. As a king, his castle should be just like this; full of life and loyal followers. Yet, the opposite held true. His castle - the home of him and his boys - was deathly silent in comparison. The boys played pranks and argued and sparred, but it failed to eliminate the silence lurking in the dark halls.

Maybe that would change once he officially joins Homicide's coffee cult?

A disturbing thought struck Nightmare, _If I am here to join the Mocha Marauders, will I be expected to give up the gang?_

Despite spreading negativity across the Multiverse and killing men, women, and children in cold blood with ease, the notion nearly brought him to tears. The corrupted blob he called a soul clenched painfully at the mere idea. He could not and would not abandon _his boys_. Dust, Killer, Horror, Cross- They needed him. They relied on him. And, as much as he loathed to think it, _I need and rely on them too._

_The Void will overtake the entire Multiverse before I give them up._

The silvery-boned skeleton nodded firmly and began to scour the room for his less than sane acquaintance. He and Homicide had some matters to discuss, chiefly the terms of him joining the Mocha Marauders. Their contract would include everything (within reason) that Nightmare deemed necessary: an agreement beneficial to the boys (indefinite protection or something of the sort), the privilege to keep his gang together, headquarters visitation rights his followers (Stars knew they desperately needed more social interaction), and the ability to borrow fellow Marauders when required. 

Either Homicide complied with those wishes or Nightmare walked- left on the spot without joining the group and vowing to attain vengeance for his (fragile) pride. They were non-negotiable. The Lord of Darkness would sooner kiss Dream than accept anything less; That was saying a lot considering he wouldn't even hug that creep while wearing a hazmat suit. 

His eyelights scanned over the crowds and passersby until they flitted passed a familiar splash of red and white. He immediately backtracked, searching for the iconic colors' source. Between the almost literal monster sea and the vast collection of hues, relocating them turned into a tedious chore, but Nightmare did eventually find the colors again. A silent cheer sounded in his mind when he did so. Unfortunately, while the monster bore the correct color scheme, they were not the one he sought. The Guardian of Negativity bit back an exasperated groan when he realized the skeleton he found was the Aftertale glitch from before. 

_I swear if I find him again instead of Homicide, I will throw him out the nearest window just to be sure I won't see him a third time._

Nightmare spun on his heels, facing in the opposite direction of the Sans to ensure his mistake would be less likely to reoccur. Then the search for Homicide began anew. He gazed upon the valley of monsters for an exceedingly long time until, as luck would have it, he spotted his target. The bloodied skeleton stood along the wall in a mostly uninhabited area, eyelights focused somewhere in the main crowd. Nightmare couldn't help but notice a particular addition to his psychotic recruiter's outfit. A few long, raven-like feathers. The plumage hung just off the end of his raggedy red scarf. 

_Perhaps he took them from Reaper?_

"If you keep staring like that, everyone is going to think you are a bigger creep than me." A hauntingly familiar voice called from the side. 

Nightmare's head swiveled to the left so quickly one might think he got whiplash. 

"Homicide!" He exclaimed, somewhat confused. "But weren't you just," His eyelight flitted back over to the wall, only to find it deserted. Apparently-not-Homicide had vanished. "...over there?"

Homicide raised a brow, frowning slightly. "Hmm? No, I was in the kitchen harassing some weirdo in a top hat and yellow vast, who was trying to make deals with everyone."

 _He was there. I know he was there_ \- "Are there any other Aftertale Sanses here, then?"

"Heh, not unless Geno has come to exact his revenge for me stealing Reaper out from under his nose." The other answered nonchalantly, with a shrug of the shoulders.

Nightmare scowled, glancing between Homicide and the empty spot. 

_Either you are pranking me, which is highly likely, or you have an infiltrator hidden amongst your group._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a blast writing this story. Thank you for the fantastic request, BookwyrmFinallyGotAnAccount.


	19. Units of Measurement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream's not particularly fond of how an AU explains measurements to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a little break from working on the final part of " _Operation F.U.N._ " and decided to write this.

Dream stood amongst the Doodlesphere's hanging papers, glaring at one in particular. An odd, glitchy little sheet leading to an AU that he came to loathe very quickly. Not that there was anything wrong with the alternate universe. The resident Sans just- Well, the skeleton seemed to believe Dream only understood certain things when phrased in a specific way. That, unfortunately, _annoyed_ the yellow-clad guardian. 

He grumbled under his breath, "Ugh, I hate that AU." 

"' _Hate_ ' is a bit of a strong word. Try 'dislike' instead; It's less mean. Anyways, what did that poor universe do to get on the wrong side of positivity?" Blue said, suddenly appearing next to him. The bubbly skeleton eyed the supposedly 'hated' paper with curiosity. 

"Wrong side of positivity?" Dream nervously rubbed the back of his neck and glanced toward the ground. "It- uh, it's kind of embarrassing now that I think about it."

_Dream and Ink stood in the newly discovered AU. Before them sat the resident monarch - surprisingly not Asgore or Toriel - who leisurely laid across a cardboard and bubble wrap throne. Neither guardian spoke. They merely inspected the strange skeleton garbed in a paper crown, unsewn fabric cape, polystyrene monocle, and cardboard pants. No shirt, or shirt-like article, covered his chest; stray strands of glittery yarn hung from his ribs._

_"So, your majesty..." The Guardian of Positivity trailed off, unsure about what to say._

_"Sans, King of Measurements and Ruler of Rulers! However, you can call me 'Metric.'" The Sans- Metric proclaimed, standing from his throne to do a dramatic, kingly pose.  
_

_Before further words could be said, Ink shouted and flailed his arms about like an energetic toddler. "Oh, oh- I have a question! Why is your staff a big ruler?"  
_

_"_ This _-" Metric gestured to the staff, sounding quite offended. "is not a 'big ruler.' It is a yardstick, which happens to be more than twelve inches." The king looked at Dream and made a halfhearted wave in his direction. "For you, that would be several butternut tree saplings or about three percent the height of a fully grown white oak."_

Dream's smile fell upon envisioning the memory. "...It's because the Sans there always converts measurements into trees for me."

"Hmm. Wasn't your mother a tree?"

"Yes, but that does not mean I only speak in tree!"

Blue opened his jaws, prepared to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of an ink splat and an excited voice. "Hey, Dream!" 

"Yes, Ink?"

The skeleton in question giggled to himself for a moment, continuing to do so as he asked, "Does that mean you want Metric to _leaf_ you alone?" The yellow-clad guardian's smile fell further with each additional question. "Are you _oak_ -ay? Feeling a little _cacao_? _Willow_ -ing in your misery? _Pine_ -ing for a way out of this? _Weeping_ -"

Dream lifted a hand, interrupting the onslaught of puns, and said with a deadpan expression, "Ink, you are dead to me."

"I can _bay_ -ly believe that!" 

Blue shot the artist an unimpressed look. "Actually, I think I can agree with Dream on this."

The smallest of the three grasped Dream's hand and began pulling him away, leaving Ink behind. The future Pun Lord shouted after them, "Oh, come on, guys! We're a _tree_ -oh. We can _fig_ -ure this out."


	20. Barking Up The Wrong Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare and Dream have an epic battle.

It was the showdown of the century: Two skeletons, their lethal followers/teammates, and some... branches? Neither Dust, Horror, Killer, Cross, Blue, nor Ink knew what to make of the addition to their battle; It made no sense how the fight devolved into _this odd mess_.

Everything started in the usual fashion: Nightmare and his gang spreading negativity and causing chaos - more or less being the evildoers that they were - and the AU protectors arriving to stop them. Dream drew his bow and shot a barrage of light arrows at the bunch while Ink painted the battlefield. Meanwhile, Blue and Dust entered a deadly tango consisting of dodging, slashing, and blocking.

Sometime after the first twenty minutes of fighting, the Guardian of Positivity abandoned his weapon in favor of a fallen, leafy tree branch; Nightmare followed suite. Now the six skeletons were forced to watch as the two brothers waved the leaf-covered limbs in each other's general direction. The Lord of Darkness swung his branch with aggression and force. Dream moved his more gently, with grace and care. They did that for a while before the positive twin gasped and cried, "You dare speak of our mother with those leaves?!"

Nightmare's branch rustled as if to answer the question. Then Dream dropped everything and fled, crying inconsolably. 

Ink glanced at a smug-looking Nightmare and the direction his comrade ran in. "What just happened?"

Silently, everyone else wondered the same thing. 


	21. To The MOON!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare-Nightmare Moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure other people have had similar thoughts.

In the ruins of Snowdin stood a menacing group of skeletons: Nightmare and his gang. While troubling, that was not what concerned the dark guardian's brother. Dream's eyelights were drawn to something far more worrisome. An odd, sharp spike protruded from the middle of the goopy skeleton's forehead. Like a unicorn horn, but more menacing. Two large masses sat on his back; the faint outline of feathers could be seen through the viscous substance coating them. Those features- They were not normal. At least, not for Nightmare. 

The Guardian of Positivity had to physically stop himself from rushing over to check on his brother. Given the sour expression on Nightmare's face, the kind gesture would be less than appreciated and may gain him a few new stab wounds. However, being who he was, Dream could not bear to keep his worry to himself. His voice escape without permission, "Oh, stars! Nightmare, are you okay?!"

The skeleton in question grimaced and shot his giggly followers a nasty look. It was ineffective and only made them laugh harder. 

"I'm fine." Nightmare's cyan eyelight moved to glare at a silently chuckling Dust. Then he hissed, " _Someone_ decided they wanted to turn me into Nightmare Moon."

Dream furrowed his brow and questioned, "Nightmare-who?"

Blue, who had accompanied him to the AU, gasped excitedly. The little skeleton practically had stars in his eye sockets as he said, "Oh my gosh- You so are! Quick, Celestia, we need to find the Elements of Harmony!" 

"Celestia? Elements of Harmony?" The yellow-clad guardian hadn't a clue what any of that meant. However, given the increase of laughter and the deepening scowl on his brother's face, it related to this other Nightmare person. Blue suddenly grabbed Dream's hand and began to literally drag him elsewhere. "Woah, Blue, where are we going?!"

"We need to find Twilight Sparkle!"

**Much, Much Later**

Error stood between the two groups, begrudgingly wearing a golden crown with a purple/pink star on it. "Th-this is-is _stupid_."

"Twilight, that doesn't sound very friendly!" Blue chided.

"We-well, it isn-n't meant t-to!"


	22. Positivity And Creation's Scion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Palette looked less than normal when he was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended for this to be more humorous, but it ended up a bit sad. 
> 
> Sorry that this isn't the final part of " _Operation F.U.N._ " It is taking me a little longer than expected to finish it. By the time it's done, I expect it to be around 4,000 to 5,000 words- I already have 3,000 words, so hopefully, it will be finished in a day or two.

Ink sat in a hospital waiting room, practically bouncing with excitement. For a good reason, too. Today was the day his and Dream's little miracle would enter the world. That, however, did not stop people from giving him odd looks or purposefully sitting further away. His red-soaked clothes and crazy, wide grin seemed to be quite the deterrent. Honestly, they were overreacting. It was just red paint; Not blood. Given some of the horrified expressions, one would think he recently went on a murder spree and decided to sit in a hospital for fun. 

While distracted with his thoughts and excitement, he failed to notice one of the nurses walk up to him and attempt to speak. It was only when she gave a polite cough that he realized she was there. 

"S-sir, Doctor Sci w-would like your presence in r-room #021." The timid (and most definitely intimidated) rabbit monster stated. 

The artist leapt from his chair and smiled wider, ignoring how the monsters around him flinched. "Cool! I was beginning to wonder how much longer I'd be waiting. Thanks- Oh, wait, which room was it? And where can I find it? I forgot! Heh-he-he!" The laughter that followed only served to unnerve everyone more. 

With shaking legs, the rabbit monster walked over to the nearby desk and quickly scribbled something down before returning to him and holding out a sticky note. "H-here you g-g-go, Sir."

One brief 'thank you' later, and Ink was standing in front of Dream's hospital room- something that took him for too long to find, even with directions. At the sight of the door, his bones rattling in pure anticipation. Just beyond the barrier were his beautiful lover and newborn son. Probably Sci as well. However, he could care less about the doctor as his enthusiasm to see his family outweighed everything in the Multiverse. Including his job. 

The door handle clicked while it turned; As Ink pushed open the door, its hinges produced a slight squeak. Slowly, the room was revealed. The sight of Dream resting in a hospital bed caught his short attention span. Then it moved to the little bundle cradled in the other's arms. Ink stepped closer, doing everything in his power to keep quiet and not squeal in excitement. 

Once at the bedside, Dream noticed his presence and gently smiled towards him, carefully readjusting the swaddled baby in his arms. Ink nearly vomited at the sheer amount of emotions bombarding him. ( _Again_. The doctors and nurses around at the time were less than pleased by that; Neither was the janitor. So much so that they refused to offer him any help. Talk about rude. Little did the artist know it was because he looked like he successfully escaped from an insane asylum, and no one wanted to approach him.) Ignoring the substance rising in his invisible throat, he leaned closer to Dream, hoping to get a glimpse of the baby.

The other chuckled at his antics before complying with his wishes by gingerly shifted the baby closer to him. Ink watched, containing his vomit-inducing excitement, as the blanket covering their son's face receded. The soft tone of his lover penetrated the air, "Say 'hello' to our little Palette Roller." 

With that said, the fabric moved enough to reveal the boy's appearance: an off-white exterior, black inkspot-like birthmarks, tiny branches shooting off from the top of the trunk with little white and yellow leaves- His son was a tree. _A sapling_. The guardian stared at his supposed child, dumbfounded. Part of him believed this to be a prank of some sort. However, one look at Dream's told him there were no jokes to be had; This was serious. Ink knew he should say something, anything to be supportive or approving of his son, but what came out of his mouth was, "G-good. Great. He... uh, looks leafy?" Which, judging by the way Dream's expression fell, failed to instill any reassurance. 

The words hung in the air, creating an awkward silence between the two. Ink chose to break it first, by inquiring about another subject entirely so he could escape the uncomfortable atmosphere. "So, where's Sci?"

The artist self-consciously shifted as Dream glanced at him with a hint of disappointment hidden in his eyelights. The bed-bound guardian then redirected his attention back to the sapling and muttered, "Right behind you."

He turned and, sure enough, Sci was positioned directly behind him, leaning against the wall with a clipboard and pen in hand. The lab coat-wearing Sans scribbled quietly on the paper attached to it, seeming to have not realized the artist had entered the room. Ink hadn't even noticed him there when he came in; If he had been anyone else, he would have screamed and attacked the doctor/scientist. But, being the forgetful Protector of AUs, he was used to not noticing things or forgetting about them immediately after looking away. Though that didn't stop him from thinking, _How long has he been there? And since when is he a ninja?!_

"I'm... going to go discuss some things with him. That alright with you?"

Dream let out a near inaudible sigh and nodded.

Ink took advantage of the hesitant go-a-head, shying away from his lover and straying to the other side of the room. The busy skeleton did not react to his approach. He merely continued to scribble away on his clipboard. Seeing as the other was distracted, Ink slide up beside him and lightly tapped his shoulder. A questioning hum escaped Sci. However, he showed no other indication that he was listening. 

"Sci," The artistic skeleton started in a hushed tone, continuing with a rather insensitive question. "Are you positive you gave us the right baby? I'm pretty sure that's a tree and, you know, _not_ a baby skeleton."

"Certain. That miracle of life is one hundred percent your offspring; I would know, I helped Dream deliver him."

"How does that even work?" Ink asked in confusion. 

The doctor shrugged and stated matter-of-factly, "Nature."

"No, seriously- _How_?!" 

Instead of answering, Sci shook his head in disappointment and wordlessly walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an alternate universe, the minute Ink leaned closer to Dream was the moment he puked on both his husband and son. Also: Sapling!Palette, AKA the forbidden backscratcher.


	23. For Honor!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shenanigans that occur inside Ink's household.

Ink sat in his kitchen, humming a gentle tune while swinging his legs back and forth. A savory scent filled the room. Steak, cheesy broccoli, boiled asparagus, broiled honey-coated carrots- Simply smelling the wondrous bounty made his stomach growl. Since he was ban from cooking (for various reasons that may or may not have involved copious amounts of fire), Dream decided to make them both lunch. And the artist had never been more grateful for the other's friendship. The lunch smelled so tempting he physically kept himself from snagging a morsel from each of the dishes. 

Also, it didn't seem like the wisest idea to sneak food at the moment. The yellow-clad guardian held a sharp kitchen knife and viciously chopped carrots on a cutting board. Each time the blade fell, it moved with precision and accuracy no one would expect from the passive, friendly skeleton. Ink had no doubt that if Dream perfected his skill outside of cooking, he would be very lethal in combat. Enough to put Dust and Killer's knife-wielding skills to shame. However, given the aggressive approach, he passively wondered if Blue's cooking style rubbed off on Dream. 

_Well, it doesn't matter as long as he can cook something edible._ Ink pouted a little. _Though, it will never be quite as amazing as my vanilla yogurt french fries and cinnamon steak._

To pass the time (and distract himself from the not yet ready meal), the artist pulled his phone out. The screen lit up with a single button push. His eyes drifted to a series of recently sent texts from a cheery, blue-wearing skeleton. Curious, Ink clicked on the most recent one. He read it. Then read it a second time as his eye sockets narrowed, and a frown formed on his face. A steady hand snaked over to the abandoned knife and grabbed it. 

Dream noticed this and said in a scolding tone, "Ink, what are you doing? You remember you are not allowed to hold knives because of the _incident_ , right?" 

"Heh, yeah. I remember- That was a fun day. I have never seen Edge so scared of someone before." Ink chuckled at the memory. "Back on topic, I just need this right now." 

" _Why_?" The Guardian of Positivity questioned while shooting him an incredulous look. 

With all seriousness, Ink slowly raised the knife and put on his 'serious face.' "Because we need to go protect Blue's honor."

"Alright." Dream's face became equally as serious; he walked over to the sink and opened its doors, bending over to rummage through its contents. While shifting things around, a generic horror movie scream sounded. The artist jumped slightly at the noise. Thereafter, his yellow-clad friend came back up, holding a shiny, sharp axe. He stated, while casually resting the blunt side of the blade on his shoulder, "Let's go."

Ink frowned at the weapon. "Dream... Why was that under my sink, and why was there a scream?"

The skeleton in question looked at him and smiled sweetly. In a soft, friendly tone, he replied, "Answer one: _Reasons_. Answer two: _Nothing you can prove_." Somehow the gentleness in the way Dream held himself made the words far more menacing. More so than if they were said by an evil megalomaniac. 

A barely audible " _And they say Nightmare is the evil twin_ " could be heard as the axe-wielding guardian made his way to the front door. After turning off the stove, of course. 


	24. Wrong Outfit, Right Time (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue shouldn't change his costume.

The sunstones embedded in the high-reaching ceilings of Mount Ebott's caverns were shining brightly, creating a daylight effect; this caused the residents beneath the earth to lumber out of bed to begin their day. The shop keeper, Doggo, opened up his store for the day. Lazy monsters filed into Muffet's, the local restaurant, for a quick and easy breakfast. The library unlocked its door, waiting in anticipation for someone to fix their sign. Alas, all they gained was a few morning readers seeking the daily newspaper. Monsters smiled chipperly on the snowy streets, obviously having a good morning. Unfortunately, in one house, the day couldn't have started off any worse. 

"Stretch! What have you done to my magnificent battle body?! It's ruined." Blue bellowed from inside their home. 

He stood in the kitchen, still clothed by starry pajamas, staring at the table in shock with a dark glint in his eyelights. Dull pinprick orbs examined the mess splayed across its wooden surface. Sky-shaded cloth scraps rested on one end while shredded bits of metal laid on the other. They were destroyed, burnt beyond recognition and torn up. Blue, however, had instantly identified the disaster as the remains of his signature outfit. And he was livid. 

The orange-clad culprit sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table; his head hung in shame, actively avoiding Blue's steely gaze. 

"I- well, uh..." Stretch stammered before choking out a nervous, "I'm sorry, bro. It was an accident."

"An accident? An accident! How can destruction of this magnitude be considered an accident?" Blue cried, clutching the remnants of his precious armor. "Now, what am I suppose to wear to my meeting with Ink and Dream? Nothing will be near as professional and worthy of a skeleton such as myself." 

The guilty monster tapped his phalanges on the table's surface. A tense chuckle followed. "Don't worry, bro. I'm sure you have something _bluetiful_ and _sansational_ to replace it with."

"You are already on thin ice, young man. And I _will_ tell Muffet to bar you from her restaurant if I have to." Blue threatened, leveling his brother with a brief glare. Then he turned and marched to the doorway, only looking back to say, "I expect the table to be spotless by the time I return from my room."

Stretch gulped, hopping out of his seat, nearly knocking it over in the process, and hastily scooped up the mess to throw in the trashcan. Blue nodded somewhat approvingly, continuing through the house to get to his bedroom. A loud bang echoed from the kitchen as he placed a hand on his room's door handle. _Stretch blew up the trash, didn't he?_

The faint scent of ozone wafting up the stairs made the answer rather clear. The blue-eyed skeleton sighed, pondering why his brother couldn't take out the trash like a normal monster. Their royal council-issued waste bin sat directly on the right side of their house. It was easy to reach. And, despite the pests that sometimes rummage through it, Blue placed no traps or puzzles around. His brother should not have any excuses to avoid going out there. Sadly, Stretch's lazy ways caused him to create crafty ways to avoid even the simplest of tasks. _  
_

_As long as the kitchen is clean when I finish getting dressed, I'll let it slide_ , Blue thought. _This time._

The door handle turned with a soft click, and he slipped inside the room before closing the door behind himself. Baby blue walls and plush, light grey carpet greeted him. The room's darkness caused the glowing, plastic stars on his ceiling to shine. Blue smiled. _Nearly two decades later and silly little things still work._ He had thought they would have stopped glowing years ago, yet they persisted. With the flick of a switch, the overhead light sprung to life and chased away the stars' gentle glow. A quiet ' _Mweh_ ' sounded as he made his way over to his dresser, a small white-painted furnishing. Blue searched the drawers, frown deepening as each failed to contain anything suitable for his meeting. Everything was either too childish or not protective enough. Lightly huffing, he folded up any loose clothing and put them back into the dresser. "What will I do now? I can't just skip or reschedule the meeting because none of my clothes are appropriate." He muttered, glaring at the ground. 

Blue stood there a moment, trying to think of a remedy for his problem. Eventually, his eyelights wandered over to his closet door. The tiny room housed many things: relics from the past, personal items he preferred hidden, Stretch's old baby clothes and photographs (an older brother must always be prepared to embarrass/blackmail their younger brother). Perhaps he left a backup set of armor or some more suitable clothing in there? There was only one way to find out. Blue walked over to the door and opened it. 

Neatly labeled boxes sat on a high shelf. A few old coats hung from the bar below it: his own light blue hoodie, a fluffy red jacket he may or may not have stolen from Red, and a couple of different styled grey coats for important occasions (date, funeral, etc.). Several boxes were tucked neatly into a corner on the floor. Deciding to start there, the pajama-clad skeleton pulled out the top two boxes and noticed the battered, old box hidden below. He pushed the other boxes aside to examine the damaged one. It was a white/grey color, unlike its square comrades, which were an unmarred brown. The longer the investigation continued, the more his brow furrowed. Blue gave the box a once-over with narrowed eye sockets. As suspected, no discernible label was scrawled across its surface.

Placing a hand on each side of the lid, he slowly removed it and inspected the contents. A worn parchment bearing the royal insignia sat atop the various items inside. The parchment's ink had faded with time, but the words could still be deciphered. "W__ted __ad o_ __i_e." It said in big, bold lettering. Right below the text was a discolored image depicting a short, hooded monster with a recognizable grin. Blue-colored magick quickly encompassed the bedroom door's lock and flicked it into the 'locked' position. The skeleton holding the paper blushed, folding it and slipping it back in the box. 

"So, this is from before- when we lived in New Home." He added a mumbled, "I suppose that should have been obvious considering the color of the box."

A wide grin spread across his face. _That means my old clothes should be in here! I bet Stretch will be so excited to see them again._

_I never did tell him why I stopped wearing them, did I?_

Blue riffled through the box, seeking the pieces of his long lost outfit. He soon removed a soft, grey leather jacket from it; a furless hood was attached to the back collar. Despite all the horrors the coat was subjected to, it remained in relatively good condition, which pleased him immensely. After setting the jacket down, he placed a matching pair of leather boots next to it. Then a stitched up pair of light blue sweatpants and a white undershirt joined them on the floor. Blue proceeded to snag some socks from his dress before putting on the old clothes. Once dressed, he glanced at the body-length mirror hanging on his wall and pointed finger guns at his reflection. He looked as magnificent as he did during his teenage years.

Humming a cheery tune, Blue exited his room and made his way downstairs. 

Suddenly, his brother teleported in front of him and took ahold of his jacket's collar, leaning closer to his face. The taller skeleton growled, "Who are you? How did you get into my house? What have you done to my brother?"

He slapped Stretch's hand away and poked a finger into his chest. "Don't take that tone with me, mister! I have no time for arguments; I'm already late enough as is."

" _B-Blue_?"

"Of course, brother. Who else would I be?" Blue answered with a raised eyebrow, hands on his hips.

Stretch sputtered for a moment before saying, "W-what are you wearing?"

"Oh, these old things? They were in the back of my closet. Mweh-he-he, I nearly forgot I put them there!" The lively skeleton chuckled, "Sneaky little devils."

He walked around his stunned brother only to have a hand landed on his left shoulder; its firm grip prevented him from getting to the front door. Blue glanced over his other shoulder. Stretch stood behind him with a disapproving expression replacing his generally carefree one. "No. Nope, I am not letting you go out dressed like that!"

Blue gently batted the hand away, glaring at his brother while proclaiming, "Papyrus, I am a grown skeleton; I can wear whatever I want. Besides, don't you remember this outfit? You used to love it when you were little- always going on and on about how cool and dangerous your big brother looked."

" _What._ "

He ignored the stressed word and glanced at the livingroom's clock. It read: _8:25 a.m_. The meeting would start at 8:40, meaning if Blue didn't speed things up, he would be unfashionably late. Giving a cheery grin, he quickly said, "Oh dear, look at the time. I really must be going, or else I'm going to be late for the meeting." Stretch opened his mouth to object, but Blue was already in front of the door. "Love you, brother! See you when I get home!" After that, he slipped out of the house and bolted down the street, dismissing his brother's cries for him to stop or slow down.

* * *

Blue walked through the sparkly halls of the Star Sanses' base, hoping to reach the conference room before the meeting started. Random Sanses and Papyruses gave him odd looks as he passed. They were ignored for the most part. However, he couldn't help but wonder why his acquaintances and friends suddenly decided to eye him with suspicion. _Perhaps they wish to know where I got my magnificent outfit from_ , the skeleton thought. The idea got dismissed rather quickly, as no one tried to ask or even gave him a 'hello' as walked by. Blue decided to think about the strange behavior later. Right now, he had an important meeting to get to; no time to strike up a conversation or question those around him. 

With a speedy gait, the possible late Star Sans spotting the door leading to the conference room and Ink, who stood right next to it. Blue grinned, walking up to his friend. He expected a pleasant 'hello' or a light scolding, but instead, the artist stiffened and demanded, "Who are you? How did you get in here?"

"What? Ink, it's me." Blue said, confused. "My armor got damaged this morning, so-"

Ink's face paled. Then he bolted, screaming in horror, "Dream! Dream, run! There is a voicesnatcher in the base, and they stole Blue's voice!"

The blue-eyed skeleton yelled after the other, "What! No, I haven't stolen a thing in my life- Oh, wait... There is that one time." He shook his head and shouted, "But, aside from _that_ , I've never stolen anything!"

Blue watched his friend's retreating form vanish into the distance. 

"Is my outfit really that ugly?" He wondered aloud while glancing down at his apparel. 

Suddenly, a finger tapped on his shoulder. Blue looked over and saw Classic and Red standing next to him. His mean counterpart had a deep scowl set on his skull and narrowed eye sockets, but somehow seemed as though he wanted to be anywhere else; especially when Blue failed to falter under his steely, red gaze. The original Sans flashed his signature lazy smile, soon saying, "Oh, hey! I don't think we've met. You from a new AU or somethin'?"

Blue turned and calmly strolled toward the conference room, refusing to be a part of some kind of prank.

"Woah, rude. I bet he is from a Fell universe." Classic snickered from behind him. 

As he walked away, he heard an unintelligible grumble for the Fell Sans in response. Knowing Red, it was likely a string of vulgar expletives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses as to what Blue's mysterious parchment is?


	25. Two Positives Make A Negative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Error gets reincarnated (as Palette) and is not happy about it in the slightest. And, Dream and Ink have marital problems.

The Multiverse: A seemingly amaranthine realm filled to the brim with numerous variations of alternate universes, where time itself fluctuates - running either faster or slower depending on location - and great dangers exist. Nightmare, the enigmatic 404 and Infected, X-Gaster, Fatal_Error- These dark beings were the most notable villains of the Multiverse. Even if some (Fatal, 404, and Infected) never stepped into the spotlight and made themselves known. That, though, didn't mean the villains refrained from stirring up all kinds of trouble. They caused many a problem, from killing to destroying to spreading fear across the infinite realm. Why? The 'Good Sanses' started fighting back more grievously. Without mercy. These 'Warriors of the Stars' began killing off those who opposed righteousness. And their resolve had been proven.

Among the list of deplorable monsters, one was missing- crossed out and removed from the equation. This scoundrel was no ordinary villain; He was the worst of the worst, a psychopath none wished to meet or earn the ire of. The monster- Legends say he dwelled in an illimitable plane of vast whiteness, which caused all those who enter to become as insane as him. Or be eternally trapped in blue spider-like strings. Others spoke of his frightening form: A skeletal figure with pitch-black bones, only highlighted by the occasional shade of red and yellow, and a cloak of flickering symbols. And, his voice- It was something of the darkest, most dreadful nightmares. It glitched and shifted like a crashing PC's demonic howl. This monster was known as Error, The Destroyer of Worlds. 

And- _**H E W A S D E A D .**_

The everlasting sunset of the Doodlesphere stretched far beyond the island's boundaries. Its' various orange, yellow, pink, and purple hues colored the limitless sky. Some shades reflected onto the numerous floating pages filling the air; Thus, creating a beautiful mix of colors on the white sheets. Soft, wispy clouds crept along the expanse. Most were white- soaking in the peaceful colors around them. Though, a rare chartreuse or cerise cloud did appear every once and a while. The scenery was magnificent. Unparalleled by anything in the Multiverse. Dream, however, thought it would be even better with his lover by his side. _ **  
**_

Ink, the protector of AUs, _his husband_ , hardly returned home nowadays. He was always busy- with this and that, or et cetera. The members of the Star Council demanded his attention for the smallest of issues. Chara stole Classic's slippers? Call Ink. Toilet clogged in Plumbertale? Better summon Ink, because, for whatever inane reason, he could fix a toilet better than a plumber. It's the worst joke ever. How many plumbers did it take to fix a toilet? None- because not even a whole AU of them was capable of doing it! That wasn't the worst of it, either. The Star Council - everyone aside from Swap Sanses, as they closed themselves off from the rest of the Multiverse once a majority of AUs chose to kill 'villains' - practically ordered Ink to hunt down major threats. Like his brother. _Nightmare_. 

Dream sighed, resting both hands on his swollen stomach. The place of which housed a little miracle of life. His son, Palette Roller. And... Ink's? Maybe. Honestly, he wasn't sure anymore. With his husband barely in his life, how could he expect him to make time to be a father to Palette? Especially when he didn't make time to be with his husband, Dream. 

When was the last time they went on a date or shared the same bed? Or hung out together, in general?

 _Too long ago_ , Dream thought. Cross seemed to be more prominent in his and the baby's life than Ink. The other did not count as a 'Bad Sans.' Not anymore. And certainly not to Dream. Throughout every trimester, the monochrome-garbed skeleton had supported him; Made him feel safe when the worst monsters were out to kill him while he was weak. Did every trivial task his lover should have done without complaint. Offered him a shoulder to cry on when days were tough. Made sure there was food in the house since Dream sparsely went out. Cross was a fantastic friend. A friend Dream didn't know he needed. Today, however, the knife-wielding warrior left on his journey to find a way to revive X-tale. Meaning the Guardian of Positivity was alone once more. 

With a frown, the yellow-clad skeleton slowly waddled his way back to the empty island home. On the outside, it appeared to be no different than a generic Sans and Papyrus house; the interior was vastly larger and littered with clutter and useless items. Used papers, worn paintbrushes, a plethora of odd trinkets from other universes- Nearly anything and everything conceivable could be located somewhere in the building. Thankfully, Ink's absence allowed Dream to organize it all. 

He gently pushed open the unlocked door as a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him. After closing and locking it, Dream instantly headed for the hideous abomination Ink called a 'couch.' Its' plaid and polkadot exterior was offensive to look at- But, right now, a certain sleepy skeleton could careless. He just wanted a nap. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the tacky furnishing and pulled the equally ghastly quilt off the back before settling down. His frown deepened as a discomforting lump dug into his spine.

 _Ink, whenever the heck you get back, you're sleeping on the couch for as long as you stay._

Somewhere in the Multiverse, a paintbrush-wielding skeleton shuddered, feeling as though a great force threatened his livelihood. A green hourglass and blue refresh symbol spun in his eye sockets. He gazed at the forested expanse before him and questioned, "Who did I cross this time?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible.


	26. Two Positives Make A Negative (2)

Dreams, slumber's either dreaded or revered illusions, flashed by in an instant; visions of happiness soon vanished into ominous warnings. Dream ran. He ran as far as his aching feet could take him. However, it was futile. The darkness- _Negativity_ chased after him in the amaranthine black expanse. Its' oozing tendrils reached out, trying to wrap around his frame and drag him into its suffocating enmity. The Guardian of Positivity awkwardly dodged. Fighting back was out of the question, as both his arms were too busy shielding his middle - _his son_ \- from attacks. Continuing forward, the yellow-clad skeleton spared a glance at the sinister foe. Another cirrus struck while his attention was diverted. He glanced back, unable to evade it in time; Wholly out of options as it smacked into his body. Then, suddenly Dream was falling- descending through a vertical tunnel of darkness at high speeds. 

" _Gah!_ " He toppled off the couch, hitting the floor with a light _thud_. The dastardly-designed quilt hugged his frame and made it nigh impossible to move. After some wiggling around, though, the pregnant skeleton was able to free himself; The offending object was thrown on to a couch cushion. Groaning, Dream slowly pulled himself up. Then he promptly sat down and rubbed his aching spine. 

_It was all a dream- No, a_ nightmare _. I haven't had one of those in a while._

He shuddered at the thought. Why now of all times did such a thing happen? The positive aura from his little Palette combined with his own ousted them. Perhaps his brother was up to mischief? Though, wasn't Ink taking care of that? The Star Council commanded him to find and eliminate all evil forces. And- Well, Dream still objected to the decision. He wanted Nightmare to live. To get better. To mend their broken relationship. (Assuming those things were still possible.) That couldn't be done if either of them were dead. But what could he do? A majority of votes were in favor of the act; Very few disagreed, and even less disagreed enough to make their displeasure known. He had been one of those minor few (along with the Swap Sanses), but, considering his current situation, he learned to keep his mouth shut rather quickly. Dream didn't want to endanger Palette further. As some monsters knew how to hold a grudge and hold it well. Like a weapon they finely polish until the time to strike was near. Thus, why he did not leave the Doodlesphere often. 

_**H e h a d a t a r g e t o n h i s b a c k .  
** _

Nightmare also had a target on his back. A large one. Not to mention, there was a high chance the dark king did not know about the 'evil purge' going on.

_What if I-_

A slight smile graced his jaws. He had an idea. It was risky, but if it worked, then it would be worth it. 

"Just... one last chance. I know he can be a better person if he tries. Plus, if it works out, you'll be able to meet your uncle and spend time with him and so on. _And_ I'll get my brother back." Dream whispered, softly, gently rubbing a hand on his stomach. 


	27. Two Positives Make A Negative (3)

As suspected, Nightmare was up to his usual shenanigans and dastardly deeds- except reaching an all-time low nigh inconceivable for the Guardian of Negativity. Both the affected AU and his location within it could be pinpointed with shocking ease. That in and of itself was a terrifying realization. The self-proclaimed King of Darkness always - without failure or a single mishap - prevented Dream from sensing him as much as possible. To abandon that strategical advantage- Nightmare either had to of become enraged beyond care or decided to no longer hold back in battle. Or, believed Dream had finally given up on chasing after the shadow of his older brother. For all the yellow-clad skeleton knew, the malicious monster and his goons may believe him to be dead, which was a plausible possibility. His universal absence could not have gone unnoticed by anyone. 

Not that it mattered right now; There were more important affairs to attend to, like giving his brother a chance to be in Palette's life. A chance to make a change for the better. One last chance to prove his guideless path was the one he wished to follow. And, in the event it proved useless to persuade him, Dream would leave him be- give up on reuniting with the silvery-boned skeleton he once called brother. 

Palette was his priority now. As such, Dream could not chase after a fanciful notion and risk his child's health and safety in the process. (Ink already did enough of that for both of them: not being around to defend Dream and their unborn child when needed, running off on inane quests at the drop of a hat, vanishing for weeks/months on end. Not to mention, making Dream question why he married the artist in the first place.) His precious little miracle deserved a parent that would put him above all else. Dream wanted to become that parent; would do anything and everything to achieve said goal. Success was the only option.

Hence, why the skeleton now quested to locate some light but sturdy armor before embarking to the afflicted AU. His usual battle attire - while not only too small due to his size - was crafted with long-range combat in mind. Which, in hindsight, should have been rectified ages ago, as Dream always ended up on the front lines alongside Ink and Blue. How many injuries could he have avoided by changing it to something more suitable for close-range combat? A majority. His naive beliefs also brought about unnecessary pain. Nightmare would hurt him, no matter how much he wished otherwise. 

Mercy did not exist. Not even between brothers. 

Exactly why Dream decided to proceed with caution. Before - during a time when an adorable little soul wasn't growing inside him - it did not matter; A millennium of fighting taught him how to take a hit. Whether a punch, kick, slash, magic attack, etc.- Dream could handle it. Palette, however, was frail and tiny. A single errant strike would dust the baby before he was even born.

The Guardian of Positivity refused to allow that. 

While rummaging through his own disorganized wardrobe, Dream finally found the sought armaments: a silky, canary yellow scarf that added plus fifteen defense, light leather armor with mythril plating on the interior, and sturdy pair of boots. Perfect. For its purpose, at least. All in all, the outfit looked like it came straight out of RPGtale; It didn't exactly scream hero either. The dark-hued leather pieces were far from welcoming in design. That, coupled with the ominous aura they exuded, made Dream seem more like a yellow-scarfed highwayman then anything else. 

With a little difficulty, he changed switched his cozy garb for the combat-ready armor. Luck appeared to be on his side, as the outfit was just big enough to fit on him without being uncomfortable. The discarded clothes were tossed in the nearby laundry basket. 

_Now that that is settled, I need a weapon._

It would be foolish, if not suicidal, to confront Nightmare and his gang unarmed. What options were there? The light bow? No, his current size made the weapon awkward to use. A staff? That could work- however, Dream was very out of practice. The sparkly pink pistol Ink had given to him as a joke on their wedding anniversary? Not his style; He wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole, anyways. That left... a sword. Cross, the Multiverse's finest swordsman, gave it to him awhile back, claiming he needed to learn new ways to defend himself. And Dream did- He trained both day and night, whenever Cross had the opportunity to teach him. As it turned out, swordsmanship was his second-best skill. Archery was his first. 

Dream smirked and made his way over to the blade. The simple silvery weapon hung just beside his (and Ink's) bed on a small sword rack. In design, Cross' giant sword dwarfed the modest falchion and put its creator to shame. However, he rather enjoyed the simplicity. Especially after witnessing all the atrocities Ink had created in the name of fashion or creativity. A steady hand carefully plucked the blade from its' resting place and affixed it to his side. With that final piece, he was ready to face his brother for the first time after a year of absence. 

Heavy snowfall shrouded the landscape as a fierce blizzard raged on in the lands surrounding Snowdin. Snowflakes whipped around in the air like a chilled fog; Preventing the town's residents and visitors from seeing an inch in front of them. The gale's howling echoed throughout the large, forest-esque hollows. Almost deafeningly. Dream trudged across the landscape, fighting against the winds- which, for whatever unfortunate reason, were blowing in the direction opposite of the one he needed to go in. His bones rattled due to the frozen air and icy winds. Cold seeped through his armor. The thin mythril plates inside slowly sapped any residual heat out of the leather. Thus, proving that while it was the better defensive choice, it was not favorable in this sort of climate. Dream shivered as a harsh chill mercilessly nipped at his body. Silently, he couldn't help but wonder if this - going to confront Nightmare - was a mistake. 

The ill-clothed skeleton journeyed for what felt like an hour. Snow continued to pour relentlessly from the sky, obscuring patches of ice and deathly drops. Dream managed to avoid them, though, slipped on icy spots occasionally; catching himself before any real damage could be done. It was disconcerting. For multiple reasons. Firstly, the negativity of the AU was weakening him. (And running around in the blizzard certainly did not help conserve energy. Alas, as much as he wished he could teleport into town, the influx of negative emotions there prevented him from doing so. Yet another downside to being the Guardian of Positivity.) Secondly, the leather-mythril armor proved to be more of a hindrance in the weather than anything else. It was not built to handle this type of weather. If Dream could go back in time and slap himself for choosing this armor, he would. Twenty times over. 

As he shivered and traversed the harsh environment, a warm light glistened beyond the sheer white veil. Its' yellow-orange hue inviting any chilled traveler to stop by and escape the cold. _Oh, thank the stars_ , he nearly exclaimed aloud upon sighting it. Soon he would be out of this God-awful weather. Likely the town: Snowdin, which was where Nightmare and his gang were. 

_I hope my plan works._

With slight trepidation, Dream stepped passed the snowy barrier and inspected the little town. A magical forcefield surrounded the area, preventing the unrelenting storm from affecting the townsfolk; meaning, the wind and snow's bone-chilling bite not longer nipped at his bones. He felt relief at that. _However_ , the state of Snowdin was far from comforting. Dusty clothes and ashen trails littered the ground. Four identical sets of footprints led through the carnage, leading any who follow directly to the causes of said carnage. He took a step forward and then another before pausing. _I'm really doing this, aren't I?_ A hand found its way onto his armored stomach. _It... It is not too late to back out; To go back home where it is warm and safe._

A frown settled on Dream's skull. His yellow-tinted eyelights drifted down until the hand and protected middle was in view. This plan- was it a good idea? If things went south, would he be able to defend himself and Palette? _  
_

_But... if I don't do this now, will I ever get another chance to make amends?_

No, the likelihood of another opportunity like this was slim to none. Sanses, Papyruses, Charas, Frisks- Nigh the whole Multiverse was out for the blood of the wicked, and they would stop at nothing to get it. And, unfortunately, Nightmare was next on their hit list. To ignore this chance - pass on it without giving a second thought - would only bring about regret later. _  
_

Dream nodded to himself. That was that; His decision was set. He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, gazing resolutely in the direction Nightmare went in. _It's time I finally spoke with my brother._


	28. Two Positives Make A Negative (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

The Guardian of Positivity followed the death-littered path with easy - though appalled by the torment of others - immediately, spotting the skeleton who dared to plague his subconscious. Nightmare: His opposite, the Guardian of Negativity and the one he called brother. Dark sludge coated Nightmare's bones and created eight deadly tendrils on his back. The extra appendages were sharpened, poised to strike. Blood and dust of monsters/humans painted them in a sickening red-grey. Dream's resolve faltered at the sight (not to mention, his queasy stomach), but then he remembered why he was doing this- to give his brother a chance to know his nephew. He stepped forward. Given his poor luck, a twig snapped beneath his feet, alerting Nightmare to his presence. Dream froze. Nightmare spun on his heels, visible eyelight ablaze with power. Its cyan hue cast light onto the other's face, yet failed to rid the innate darkness. The dark guardian's tendrils began to flail in discontent as he sized him up; A scowl soon settled on his skull. Dream, on the other hand, struggled to keep his expression neutral. 

Dust, Killer, and Horror suddenly appeared beside their leader, weapons drawn and prepared to attack. He nearly jolted in shock; however, kept his composure. How did they get there? The lack of magic in the air indicated that teleportation could not be the cause. Then how? Dream internally shuddered and thought, _Their stealth has gotten better over the past year. I should keep a close eye on them. Stars only knows if they will take the opportunity for a sneak attack._

The Guardian of Negativity stepped forward and hissed, "Well, well, well- Look who we have here, a foolish dreamerready for a fight." A sneer crept on to his face, and his malicious eyelight examined the form of the missing Star Sans. Dark tendrils wiggled behind him in displeasure. "I see your year of absence has not been kind to you, _guardian_. Such a shame; I highly doubt you'll successfully dodge a single attack with all that fat you're lugging around."

The dark guardian's followers chuckled, darkly, ever-so-slowly working their way around Dream until they surrounded him from all sides. And there they stood, poised and ready to attack at a moment's notice- Like a pack of wolves waiting to strike. Worry weaved its way into his soul. It seemed the team had grown more strategic during his leave as well. Perhaps Error's untimely demise motivated them to prevent a second incident. Regardless, he kept his eyelights locked on Nightmare. With a raised eyebrow, Dream shot the dark skeleton an unimpressed look. 

"Poking fun at my weight? Your standards for spreading negativity have truly fallen, Nightmare." He said, thoroughly disappointed in the childish jeering. Nightmare had more elegance and grace; immature insults and mockery was beneath him. Usually. "Though, regardless of your 'hobbies,' that is not why I'm here today."

Nightmare laughed- laughed and laughed, as if someone told him the world's greatest joke. While he bent over and clutched his stomach, his tendrils waved uncontrollably. Dream remained still, wondering if it was that inconceivable. That he couldn't have other motives for visiting his brother. After a minute-long fit of hysterical laughter, Nightmare reeled in his emotions and righted himself.

"Ha! You expect me to believe _that_. I'm no fool, _Dream_." Chuckling under his breath, the Guardian of Negativity continued. "So, what then? Cat got your tongue? Got tired of repeating the same script over and over and over again? No heartfelt, hypocritical speeches about being a better person, or pleading and begging for me to be your brother again? Ha, why I never thought I'd see the day! The goody two shoes dreamer is finally embracing his dark side." Nightmare said it all with hatred in his eyelight. 

"Nightmare, will you give me a chance to-"

"No! I'm sick and tired of listening to your fake morals and hypocrisy. It's high time you listened to _me_ for once. _You_ \- Everything you've ever represented is all a lie! Positivity. Happy emotions. It's all bullshit! You could never be the guardian of any of those things when all you ever do is spread prejudice and injustice." Dream flinched back. However, Nightmare continued his rage-filled rant. "Like back at the village. Because of _you_ , I was ostracized and loathed by everyone we were sworn to protect; To the point, they tried to end me on multiple occasions because they couldn't handle a little negativity. I should have known it would happen once more. That your naive, incompetent, foolish ways would never change. You are incapable of learning from your mistakes or the past. And, it seems, that Error is your second victim."

_Second victim? Wait, does he think I-_

Dream jumped at the chance to defend himself, neutral expression involuntarily slipping into a scowl. "I'll have you know I played no part in his death! Brutally killing a monster with problems they can not control is a low I am _not_ willing to stoop down to; You know this, Nightmare." _  
_

The other chuckled lowly, maliciously; His stance quickly changed. Dark tendrils sharpened, growing stiff and positioned outward for a better strike. His cyan eyelight burned even brighter. Shifting into an offensive stance, Nightmare all but growled, "Your right. I do. But that doesn't change that fact you're married to the bastard who did it and did nothing to stop him!"

_Ink killed Error?!_

How? Why? Killing Error- Certainly, the artist would never consider that a possibility! Ink loved him just as much as Dream (if not even more). That was just- just impossible. _Unbelievable_. _  
_

"What are you tal-"

Without so much as an ' _Attack the fool!_ ' or ' _Take care of that pesky Star Sans!_ ', the surrounding enemies charged forward and began to attack. _So much for a peaceful chat between brothers_ , Dream thought bitterly. He swiftly drew his sword and blocked right as Killer slashed at him with a knife. Then sidestepped a series of bone attacks from Dust before jumping out of the way of Horror's axe. A sharp slash to the arm from a tendril caused him to fallback further. For a while, the five skeletons danced a deadly tango. Swapping attacks with each other, dodging and blocking blows, using dirty tricks to get an advantage- The group of four were doing everything in their power to defeat Dream. Yet he held his ground, yielded to no attack. Taking time to train with Cross proved to be a great decision. Though, even the best warrior was not invulnerable during combat. 


	29. Two Positives Make A Negative (5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing, blood (?), and violence.)
> 
> I keep forgetting to ask- Do you guys want me to put multi-chapter stories into their own book as well as here, or reorganize the chapters, so everything is easier to find?

The battle in Snowdin raged on, causing copious amounts of damage to the environment. Slash marks from Horror's deathly sharp axe tore through the ground, buildings, and trees. Burnt, damp earth sat where (narrowly dodged) blaster beams scorched the land, releasing an abrasive scent; its two components being ash and ozone. Spear-tipped, blue and white bone attacks protruded from the surrounding surfaces. Some had the barest hint of red on their sharp tips. As time progressed, Nightmare and his followers grew more and more frustrated, attacking frequently and somewhat desperately. Dream wasn't fairing too well either. The Guardian of Positivity lightly panted, exhaustion growing with the frustration his foes' held. A yellow flush colored his skull, and his movements were becoming slower and slower. His once spotless armor now had deep gashes with blood-like marrow seeping forth; the only pristine spot being the area that covered his belly.

A pointy tendril stabbed at Dream's side, missing by a millimeter as its target stepped out of the way of yet another knife slash. He warily eyed the snarl on Nightmare's skull while attempting to keep an eye on his other three assailants at the same time. Horror stood a foot to his back right, axe raising for another swing. Dust, on the other hand, positioned himself at a nearby building (Grillby's) and lit his left eyelight ablaze with purple magic. Bones burst around Dream's feet, likely an effort to keep him still while Horror attacks. The flushed skeleton leapt forward, narrowly clearing the obstacle, and turned to counter the axe with his sword. The distinct sound of leather ripping echoed through the air, followed by a stinging pain emanated from behind. Dream hissed in discomfort. However, his hands did not falter as he blocked Horror's blow. 

Sparing the opposite direction a glance, he saw none other than Killer standing behind him. A smug grin laid on the sneaky skeleton's jaws, and blood dripped from his blade. Dream shuddered at the malice inside his empty eye sockets. 

_Damn it! When did they get so good? I can hardly keep up. Perhaps it's time I consider withdrawing- make a distraction and getting the hell out of here. Nightmare has made his point more than clear. He doesn't want to talk_ or _listen, and I can't make him._

A bitter part of the guardian's mind added, _This wouldn't be a problem if I had Ink with me._ _  
_

A frown marred his face. Loathing boiled at the fact his subconscious seemed determined to bring up their failing marriage. Dream hastily began to shoo the thoughts away, becoming distracted enough to take a punch directly to the jaw. The sword, luckily, stayed in hand as the force knocked him over. He groaned, landing on a barren patch. His nasal cavity wrinkled as a dreadful scent assaulted it. The stench of ozone alone was enough to make Dream's stomach turn, but together with that horrid ashy, burnt smell (and being so close to the source), he nearly vomited. Choking back a gag, he quickly pushed himself off the ground and jumped away. A second later, twenty bones shot out of the earth; likely would have impaled him if he hadn't reacted so swiftly. Dream wheezed, silently cursing his weakened body.

Thereafter, the next wave in the assault commenced without giving a moment to rest. Ten-foot tall bones launch out of the ground. They stood in a row on the guardian's left and right, creating a clear path between him and Nightmare. Dream briefly pondered whether or not the trio planned on herding him towards Nightmare. Unfortunately, he soon reached a conclusion, as the Guardian of Negativity barreled down the path with all eight tendrils readied for battle. His soul clenched- heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and bones slightly rattling. Yellow, pinprick eyelights frantically searched for an escape. His magic reserves were dangerously low. Teleportation would be very risky and foolish in this state. It seemed fleeing wasn't an option either. Dust, Killer, and Horror blocked the path behind him. Each wore a manic grin. Glee and anticipation radiated off of them; further prodding proved they were excited that this game of cat and mouse would be ending soon. And in their favor. 

Dream considered what few options he had: Surrendering (As if that would do any good; His four attackers sought dust), holding his ground, forcing his way past the deadly trio, and facing his opposite head-on. None were exactly favorable. Or liable to provide a semi-decent outcome. For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of calling his supposed husband. Despite everything (the failed summonings and ignored phone calls), the pregnant skeleton kept a little vial of ink in his inventory for emergencies. It was tempting. He could easily pull the vessel out and smash it on the ground to summon the artist. Yet Dream doubted Ink would answer the summons. Too many had failed in the past for him to trust the other to come to his aid. Meaning, he needed to somehow weasel out of this mess by himself. 

_Nightmare was right about one thing,_ Dream thought while glancing down at his belly, _my foolishness my very well be the end of you, my dear Palette._

_However, my own shortcomings will not end you today!_

The Guardian of Positivity quelled his rattling and replaced any fear in his expression with a determined gaze and grim frown, defensively raising the falchion he held. His tendril-wielding counterpart sprang forth, slash and hacking with the biological weapons. Dream evaded each attack while using his sword to block any unavoidable ones. As a mucky appendage struck against metal, another swung in front of him, forcing him to take a step back. The motion repeated again and again until Dream realized he was being driven directly to the other three evil skeletons. Dust, Killer, and Horror had prepared their magic and material weapons, waiting for the opportune time to attack all at once. They looked ready to pounce at any given instant. So, instead of allowing the next slash to push him back further, he whirled the falchion to the side he knew Nightmare's next attack would aim for. 

The blade's edge sliced clean through the approaching tendril. Black, viscous goo spurt from the flailing limb as its severed tip landed on the ground, limp and useless. Stray splatters hit Dream's armor, causing him to grimace. Meanwhile, his opponent released a howl of rage and agony, staring wide-eyed at the amputated body part. Their onlookers appeared shocked by the sudden injury. The guardian couldn't blame them. Never before had he inflicted such a grievous wound on Nightmare. Not even when the other was doing his damnedest to kill Dream and his fellow guardians- Unfortunately, for the dark king, times change. Dream found something he refused to lose; something to protect and fight for. If his 'brother' wanted a real fight, then he would get one.

_No more holding back._


	30. Two Positives Make A Negative (6.1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*smash hands on desk*_
> 
> I'm okay. I swear. Now, does anyone have some bait? The ending to this chapter keeps running away, and after 4,000 words, I still can't seem to catch it.

The falchion rose into the air to prepare for another strike. A brief glint flickered across the blade's length once Dream's stance brought it to peak height and reappeared again when the weapon hastily descended with an audible _swish_ , which sounded throughout the battlefield as the sharpened metal sailed toward its next target. Its aim stayed steady and precise, like that of a well-aimed arrow. Until it didn't. A rather sudden, excruciating discomfort bloomed in the armor-clad guardian's abdomen, causing the color to flee his face and sheets of yellow-tinted sweat to form at the base of his skull. His sword-wielding hand began to violently tremble halfway through the slicing motion, sending a shock wave that nearly knocked the weapon into the icy snow through the hilt and up the blade; And, unfortunately, led to the swing missing. Metal met snowy earth as the attack swerved past Nightmare's dark tendril, leaving it unscathed.

 _Stars of the damned_ , Dream's mind instantly supplied after breaking through the shock spawned by the jabbing pain.

His eyelights barely held shape due to the agonizing pang, and fat yellow droplets of magic gathered around the corners of his eye sockets. Each breath released came out uneven. Hitched and quickened to the point he sounded like a wounded balloon filled with gravel. Fighting down tears plus forcing his breath to level became a daunting task in and of itself, spectacularly failing when the added sting produced by his other injuries decided to rear its ugly head. His jaws clenched to prevent a wet sob from escaping. All the while, the hand shakily grasping the falchion tightened its hold around the blade's handle.

He drew the weapon close, holding it in a defensive position in front of himself, and prayed it would be enough to block any subsequent attacks. Then, using his free hand, Dream investigated the thick leather and metal armoring his stomach for breaches, rips, and the like. The frantic prodding revealed worrying results. Nothing laid there; no deep gash or scratch. In fact, there was still no discernible damage of any kind. Unsurprising, considering how he focused on protecting that area above everywhere else. But pain and knowledge of the afflicted region brought forth silent panic. An emotion exceedingly tricky to hide from his closest opponent, Nightmare.

 _Okay, okay. It's fine. Probably just Palette kicking or something._ The armor-clad skeleton thought (or more like prayed), attempting to calm himself with (false) reassurance, not even registering that the unoccupied arm/hand had long-since come to rest protectively around the baby's temporary shelter.

_Nevertheless, I really should wrap this up quickly and get the hell out of here._

Dream's eyelights raised to study the dark, oozing monster. (When had he stopped watching the other?) A blazing cyan eye gazed back. The malice-filled orb locked onto the younger guardian's form, analyzing- taking in the sight of his scrunched brow and renewed trembling before a wicked grin stretched across its owner's face. Like the way a cat would smirk if their favorite meal fell right into their paws. Blackish-purple tendrils poised themselves for an attack, practically wiggling in anticipation. The Guardian of Positivity could only speculate how much it would hurt to be skewered by the bunch. Needless to say, he did _not_ want to find out. His feet shifted, slowly edging him away from the other while keeping the sword in front to separate them. However, the action sputtered to a halt as a sharp spasm appeared in his gut and forced him to stop himself from dropping to the ground and curling into a tight ball.

_Palette, sweetheart, now is not the time for this!_

Pinching his brows, Dream stumbled back as far as he was willing to allow himself to without further leading himself toward the trio behind who had yet to attempt to steal their boss' kill. Though the few feet he gained dwarfed in comparison to the dark lord's reach. The sharpened tendrils thrashed at him from afar with wild enthusiasm. Logically, dodging or holding his ground was less than likely to succeed. So the weak, injured skeleton did the one thing he could think of: He let his legs fall out from under him and crashed bottom first into the snow, which (just barely) made the deadly appendages miss the most vital parts of his body and earned him a few new cuts along his arms and legs.

Sticky red magic gushed out the fresh wounds and traveled down the cracks in his armor, staining the dark leather with crimson. Dream's blood-splattered scarf fluttered helplessly in the glacial breezes that swept across the town as he attempted to will himself to stand. Alas, to no avail. The pain plaguing his stomach remained strong, leaving his arms and legs shaking and unwieldy, and the sharp wind stung at any open cuts like an angry hornet. Or an entire nest of the foul creatures. Regardless, he continued to struggle - demand the appendages help him stand (and, quite possibly, run away) - and only when another biting spasm shot through his stomach did he quit. Soon, dropping his sword before pulling both arms around the afflicted area; Each leg lying uselessly half under and half in front of the quivering skeleton's injured, hunched over form. If a small whimper escaped without permission, the guardian would allow it just this once.

Soft crunches in the snow were the only indication of Nightmare's advance; Even then, they sounded featherlight and barely audible above the labored wheezing squeaking past his jaws. Dream kept his head low, unable to bring himself to watch the negative being approach. Unable to face whatever sneer or triumphant expression adorned his counterpart's sludge-coated skull.

A deep, familiar voice filled the air when the footfall halted. "I must say I am quite impressed you put up so much of a fight. You're clearly not as out of practice as I thought you would be, given how you have avoided your 'duties' the past year and forgone maintaining a slim figure." The speaker paused a second, adding in a lower, more sinister tone, "A shame it has to end here."

His eye sockets squeezed shut, new tears gathering in the corners and flowing down his yellow-flushed cheeks. This battle may be the end; The conclusion to their century-old war, and possibly the start of a new one. (Assuming Ink cared enough to avenge him.) Such a chilling thought made his blood run cold and a violent shiver jolt down his spine, shaking his whole body. The many wounds marring his form protested at the movement, decreasing his critically low HP by a point or two. And, in turn, reminded him of how greatly his plan failed.

_You are in a corner, Dream. Trapped, low on magic, and with bleeding injuries and a stabbing pain in your gut._

_All while carrying a child._

Fear coiled in his belly as though it was a boa constrictor squeezing at his nonexistent insides, planning to make more room for a permanent residence. The Guardian of Positivity knew the risks all too well, yet foolishly decided to go through with his plan. Alone. At the very least, he could have called for back-up. Cross was out searching for a way to revive his AU, yes, but the swordsman might have been willing to postpone his search for a day or more if Dream asked nicely. And Blue- The bundle of pure, unfiltered energy from Underswap had made his stance on the Council's current position quite clear. Though he and his old friend weren't speaking at the moment (courtesy of Ink), Blue would have helped as well. Probably.

 _I should have left when I had the chance_ , the traitorous corners of Dream's mind added. _Then maybe this whole situation wouldn't have escalated the way it has._

Now the price of Dream's actions could very well be his life and his son's. Meaning: Palette, his precious baby boy, would never grow up to know the feeling of sunlight or a cool autumn breeze, take his first steps, discover his favorite hobbies and explore everything the Multiverse had to offer, or live a full life and start a family of his own one day. All because his mother's idiocy robbed him of the chance.

_No. I can't let that happen.  
_

_Not without one hell of a fight, at least._

He hoisted his head high enough met Nightmare's eyelight with his own. A dark glint whispered frightening tales of the dangerous emotions running through the mind of the monster before him. It certainly didn't help that a smug expression rested on the dark's face while each individual tentacle waved threateningly behind him, ready to strike at a moment's notice. The other's confidence and conceit grew even higher the longer his cyan eyelight bore into Dream's. After all, the eyes were the window to the soul. So the Guardian of Negativity got a rather good taste of the horrid cocktail of emotions swirling in his being- from the tangy bite of fear to the sour notes of despair. All tainted by love, care, and the will to protect. Whether Nightmare believed those feelings were reserved for the Multiverse, Dream did not know nor did he care. One thought gained priority above all others: _escape_.

Desperation gleamed in his eyelights' pale yellow depths as their wobbly pinprick forms frantically darted left and right while looking for an opening. Anything would do. A breach in the enemies' defenses, a simple slip up, the tiniest misstep- _Anything_. Yet, the more Dream observed, the sooner he realized the four scoundrels were not going to give him one. He didn't doubt the possibility that they had planned for a moment like this and planned it well.

If that was the case, then how could he get out of this? And, better yet, was it possible to? A black and white blur sprung to the forefront of the guardian's mind, shifting into an all too familiar skeleton with fluff-laden armor and a bright grin. 

_Cross!_ The armor-clad guardian perked up slightly at the thought, which brought a new question to mind. _What would Cross do?_

 _What would he advise_ me _to do?_


	31. Two Positives Make A Negative (6.2)

A distant memory surfaced shortly. Infinite islands stretching out into a vast void of warm-colored hues and soft cream clouds, specific sections littered by numerous hanging white paper sheets, and a distinct hint of crayon/paint wafting in the air. Dream could practically picture himself standing there facing Cross.

_The monochrome warrior stood a few feet ahead dressed in full armor, leaning tiredly against the knife-sword buried in the ground in front of him. Dream, his yellow tank-topped and grey-shorted trainee, drooped in place- shoulders sagged and spine as straight as a weeping willow; more than a little too lazy to move. The lump hidden beneath the guardian's shirt barely showed, but the sweat dripping down his skull and staining his clothes was more than enough proof his magical and physical capabilities were hindered by something. Both were flush in the face (purple and yellow respectively) and panting from their most recent activities: sword and attack formation practice. Their efforts evident by the sheer amount of bone attacks and red magic knives adorning the miniature training ground._

_Dream glanced off to the side, admiring the Doodlesphere's unique qualities while catching his breath. Even the less than enjoyable ones. (Why Ink thought flying spaghetti dragons were a neat addition to the Doodlesphere, he would never know.) After several seconds passed, his yellow eyelights drifted back over to Cross, who had since abandoned his position on the other side of the island and begun casually approaching._

_A small smile spread across the weary skeleton's jaws when his mentor came to a halt beside him. An action that the swordsman returned in kind, causing his own smile to widen a fraction further. Despite the long training session, Cross seemed to have mostly recovered; his breath steady and purple flush a mere whisper compared to bright shade it had been moments ago. The knife-shaped blade he wielded found itself returned to his back, securely strapped in place, where it could rest until he decided to call upon its aid once more. Meanwhile, Dream stood there with a discarded short sword next to his feet, cracks splintering down its sides and chips littering the blunt edges. The exact opposite of Cross' pristine blade._

_A minuscule, definitely barely noticeable part of the guardian felt jealous. But solely because he wanted nothing more than to fall on his bed and never get up while Cross was already up and moving again. How did the other manage stretching his invisible muscles after a workout like that? He hardly fathomed doing it. Everything ached- from his metatarsals to everything in between there and his blistered phalanges. And, if Dream didn't know any better, he might even say his_ aches _had_ aches _._

_Suddenly, a hand holding a simple-wrapped chocolate bar appeared under his nose and startled him out of his thoughts. The delicious, sugary delight called to his magic like a siren to a sailboat. Or perhaps his souling's magic? It was rather hard to distinguish who was craving what during the pregnancy thus far. Still, the yellow orbs in the exhausted skeleton's eye sockets were hesitant to trail past the sweet and to the face of his friend._

_"Here. For your HP. I'm sure you need it after the number we did on this poor place." The corners of Cross' eye sockets crinkled in amusement, positive feelings (mirth, happiness, care) swelling in his soul as he voiced the offer._

_A hand shot forward with renewed vigor, snatching up the food item and drawing it to Dream's skull. Then the chocolate disappeared from between the phalanges so quickly that one would need to slow time to watch the split second his incisors/molars parted to witness it vanishing. A light snicker caused the yellow dusting his cheeks to burn brighter. No longer did Cross wear an expression of shock when Dream ate candy, wrapper and all. Instead, amusement seemed to overpower any other feeling about the matter. If not evident by his laughter._

_While Cross tried (unsuccessfully) to stifle the joyous sounds by placing a hand over his teeth, the guardian sputtered a "T-thanks." His eyelights drifted to anywhere other than the warrior's face. Coincidentally, bring him to examine the battle-ruined isle. "But couldn't you have gone easier on me? You know I haven't done anything like this before."_

_"No. It's all apart of training." The answer came out muffled and airy, with a hint of mirth lingering in the background. But Dream could tell the other felt a little remorse for using a full-on Royal Guard training regiment._

_A playful smirk stretched across the guardian's face, quickly being replaced by a faux pout. "That's part where you are supposed to say 'yes' and offer to carry me back to the house so we can eat chocolate ice cream together."_

_The mention of the fluffy armored skeleton's favorite flavor caused excitement to spark in the air. Unfortunately, a taste of urgency and longing ruined the reply. "Heh. Maybe next time, dreamcatcher."_

_"Only if I don't eat all the ice cream first, criss-cross."_

_Cross chuckled at the fake threat, pretending to look offended for a moment before the smile on his face faded into a more serious expression. "All jokes aside, the training_ is _important. It may be rough, yes, but that's the Royal Guard way in my AU, and I don't plan to treat you any different from a fresh cadet- because your opponents won't give you any luxuries in combat. Whether you are pregnant or not, battle is battle, just as war is war. The only thing you have to gain from your current situation is people underestimating you."_

_A hand grasped Dream's sore shoulder and gave it a small squeeze, causing him to lightly flinch while he listened intently to the warrior's words, which drifted into a proud yet teasing tone for the final sentence. "But, for a skeleton who has had no formal combat training prior and has little magic-eating goblin in his belly, I'd say you did well today!"_

_The Guardian of Positivity blinked in response to the praise. "R-really? But the island is a mess, and my weapon got ruined."_

_"Combat practice is messy, and weapons break, dude. You'll have to trust me when I say you did a great job; keep practicing like this, and I am sure you will be as good as me one day." The swordsman absently flicked the discarded sword off the ground with a foot and balanced it on the toes of his boot. He soon followed up by kicking it twelve or more inches in the distance, where it proceeded to crack and shatter upon impact. "Might have to find you a better sword first, though. It wasn't as sturdy as I thought it was."_

_"Thank you. For the training and the vote of confidence."_

_Cross gave a shy chuckle and pulled a hand up to rubbed at the back of his neck. All while the light purple on his skull flared with a new purpose. "It's no problem. Besides, I owe you anyways, and this is the perfect chance to pay off my debt."_

_A frown marred Dream's jaws at the words. "You know you don't owe me anything for that, right? It was the right thing to do. I was happy to help."_

_"I know, I know. I just wanted to do something nice in return. Like combat training..." The sentence trailed off when a loud, repetitive jingle emanated from seemingly nowhere. His friend quickly produced a worn phone from his inventory and grimaced at whatever he saw on its cracked screen._

_"Oof... I suppose this concludes our time for the day."_

_"You're leaving?"_

_"Yeah. There are a few leads I want to check out before nightfall. Plus, I do believe there is a neat little list of errands I need to run for you sitting in my inventory." The other added the last sentence in a playful tone._

_Cross' intense magic sprung to life seconds later and swarmed a little ways away, coming together to form a void-esque rift in the dimension. A sinister feeling exuded from the darkness inside. As his feet began to carry him toward the portal, Dream lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the other's chest, burying his face in the soft white fluff of the armor. Which, regrettably, tickled his nasal cavity. The warrior slowly turned in the hold (inadvertently making the tickling worse), encircling Dream in his own arms once he did a full one-eighty._

_The pair stood unmoving. For a second and then another, until the surrounding silence was broke by a light murmur. "Be safe. Especially if you're planning on traveling to any AUs with high levels of negativity, my brother is probably still looking for you."_

_The Guardian of Positivity felt the limbs squeeze tight around him in response, drawing away soon after. Once the residual warmth vanished, he dropped his arms to his side as well and took a few small steps back._

_"I will. Expect me back sometime in the next few hours, and if I don't return by the time that's passed-" Cross paused, throwing his head back and rising a closed fist to his chest while the other hand rested dramatically across his forehead. "Eat the ice cream without me."_

_Dream faked a gasp. "And deprive you of the wonders of triple chocolaty goodness? Never! I'll save you a bowl."_

_"Heh, alright." A small snicker passed the other's jaws as he shifted to face the portal. "Oh, Don't forget to read the book I gave you; it has some important sections I'd like to incorporate into your next lesson in swordsmanship and combat."_

_"I won't."_

_"Good." Stepping into the inky black depths, Cross shot Dream one last reassuring smile before slipping inside. The portal zipped shut, afterward; closed off whatever ill-treated AU laid beyond it from the Doodlesphere._

_Now Dream was completely alone. And, seeing as the tired skeleton had nothing better to do, he opened his inventory and brought out the medium-sized book given to him earlier in the day. It had a thick black cover with blood-red lettering stretched across the front. His brow lifted at the title:_

_Escape: A Guide to a Warrior's Strategic Withdraw._


	32. A Mischievous Broom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broomie loves causing Ink trouble.

Ink cheerily hummed as he got dressed in his usual clothing items- bandolier plus vials, gloves, overalls, sneakers, etc. Once clothed, his hand reached over to an obtuse-shaped wardrobe, which generally had his trusty paintbrush propped against it. When the appendage went to close around the object, it met with nothing. The five fingers merely grasped at thin air. A small frown formed on the artist's face. Thoughts whirling, colors and shapes flashed in his eye sockets with each considered possibility. Soon a green question mark and a red spiral remained. Sharp eyelights flitted to the empty space, examining the scene for clues as to why he grabbed air. His sockets narrowed a faction. Nothing laid there. Not even a stray brush bristle. That knowledge in mind, the senseless notions cluttering his head halted and formed a single question: _Where is Broomie?_

His brows furrowed, and a hand found its way to his chin; the spiral in his left eye socket swirled. Last night, the giant brush had been there. Ink distinctly recalled placing it against the dresser after throwing on his pajamas. However, that belief could easily be wrong given his poor, goldfish-like memory. _  
_

_Maybe I moved it later?_

Though, when would that have happened? After he had watched that weird movie about singing rocks or before testing the bounciness of his soft, springy mattress? 

The skeleton chuckled at the thought, "Heh. That was fun!" Then the frown on his jaws deepened. "Well, up until all the jumping started to make me nauseous. Black ink is a pain to remove from carpet." 

A dark stain sat where he threw up on the carpet. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to remove his namesake without leaving some behind. Blue probably had some great tricks for cleaning the substance by now. He'd certainly known Ink long enough to need them. The soulless artist began scanning the room. If he found his phone, he could ask his blue-clad friend about cleaning tips. Instead of continuing the search, he paused and internally scolded himself. 

_No. Ink, stay on track. You can always talk to Blue later, like at the meeting. Right now, you have to find Broomie._

His eyelights drifted over to the plush, bouncy surface he sleeps on. _  
_

_Though..._

_Jumping on the bed again would be fun._ _  
_

Ink pushed the thought from his mind and reminded himself of his current mission: Finding Broomie. And, unfortunately, not jumping on the bed, or talking to Blue, or solving that one thousand piece puzzle sitting on his livingroom's coffee table. He began investigating the room once more. Suddenly an excited gasp echoed across the room as a thought struck him, eyelights shifting into a yellow exclamation point and a pink heart. _  
_

"Broomie! Are we playing hide-and-seek?" Ink questioned, glancing around the room looking for his 'inanimate' companion. He quickly began wandering around and looking under/in random furnishings and objects. The effort proved useless. Broomie hid neither here nor there or anywhere. A blue teardrop and orange square replaced the previous shapes his eyelights took on.

The creative skeleton placed his hands on his hips, stating in faux seriousness, "As fun as this is, I do have an important meeting today; Dream will be upset if we aren't there on time. Pretty sure we are already running a little late. Too much longer and Dream will lecture us when we arrive- And we'll miss all the good snacks!" 

Upon that realization, Ink fell to his knees and shouted a dramatic, " _NO_! Red has probably eaten all the high-quality chocolate by now. I won't be able to bribe Error into hanging out with me later!"

Elsewhere, in an endless plane of sheer white, a loud _thump_ sounded over the unintelligible chatter of incorporeal voices. The sound's volume and overall unexpectedness startled the realms only known occupant. With narrowed eye sockets, Error looked up from his current knitting project. His glitches twitched upon seeing who/what dared to disturb him. A comically large paintbrush, which happened to be his mortal enemy's weapon, laid a few feet in front of him. 

The glitch scoffed. "Oh-h, it's _y-you_. No better-r than th-that worthless artist-st of yours, I s-s-see. Al-always dropping in-into my home-e - _unwelcome_ and _unannounced_ \- solely to-to irritate m-me."

Multicolored eyelights glanced around the space, looking for a blur of brown with a hint of rainbow. Error nearly sighed in relief when not seeing the artist anywhere in his void. A faint twitch drew his gaze back to the brush. He watched in mild disgust as the object's bristles squirmed and formed three tendrils, which it then used to begin dragging its wooden body. It moved further and further away (much to Error's delight), vanishing into the distance and, hopefully, leaving the Anti-Void to torture some other poor soul. 

" _E-ew_. That-at damn thing i-is just as-as disgusting-ing as its owner-er." The destroyer uttered once he was positive it had left, adding under his breath, "C-creepy-ass brush sh-should have been p-put out of its-ts misery a long t-time ago. Fortunately, f-for _Ink_ , I wou-would die before t-touching that fre-freaky a-abomination. Paintbrushes a-are _not_ supposed to-to be sentient. Or move-ve, much less crawl a-away." 

He tightened his grasp on the knitting needles, prepared to return to working on the barely complete scarf in his lap. However, a little something placed before him caught his attention. Error carefully pulled his red-rimmed glasses from his inventory and slipped them on. Lying in the spot Broomie once occupied was a thin rectangular item covered in a shiny plastic wrapper. The destroyer instantly recognized it as a bar of his favorite brand of chocolate. Blue strings snatched up the sweet delight, pulling it into an eagerly awaiting hand. A note attached to the outer layer prevented him from cramming it in his mouth. He shifted his glasses with a hand and examined the pesky paper, reading the words aloud in disbelief. " _'From Ink'_?" 

Error grinned maniacally, shooting a glance at the yarn figures hanging above. Then a cold, low voice laced with malice and glee escaped the destroyer's jaws. "If Inkstain wants to play..."

" _I might as well get a new puppet out of it._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broomie is one hundred percent Ink's wingman. But that doesn't necessarily mean it is a good wingman.


	33. Multiversal Broom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broomie goes on an adventure.

_Ring_.

 _Ring_.

 _Ring_.

Ink cracked open his eye sockets, eyelights flicking to life in the form of a red target and green question mark. The rhythmic chime continued to blare throughout his bedroom as he slowly sat up. His eyes narrowed at the cause. That being: a blue-colored phone lying on the nearby nightstand. He groaned and picked up the infernal device. A simple look told him that it wasn't his alarm, but a call from a number his mind failed to recognize. A moment or two passed before Ink's curiosity got the better of him. With a single button press, the call was accepted. 

"Ink, I need your help!" A hysterical voice shouted. The sheer volume made him pull the phone away from his head. After the voice stopped, the guardian cautiously put it back against his invisible ear.

"Wait, Sci- what? Why? It's," Ink glanced at the clock on his wall. "three o'clock at night. I should be asleep. _You_ should be asleep."

"True. However, I was working on my multiversal teleporter and started a test run to see if it works. The only- Gah! Stop it, you foul creature!" More frantic yelling and an unholy shriek assaulted Ink's nonexistent ears. A loud crash sounded on the other side of the phone, likely glass or porcelain shattering, then a metallic _bang_ followed. Soon after, Sci spoke, "Sorry about that. As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, the only problem is I summoned a demonic eldrich broom instead of a Sans, and I need your help getting it into the machine so I can send it back from whence it came. Or, at the very least, out of my lab. It's making a horrible mess."

 _Crash_.

"...Broke my favorite coffee mug, too."

Ink sighed, "Ugh. Okay, I'll be right there."

He hung up the phone, tossing it haphazardly onto the nightstand, and hopped out of bed. Then he proceeded to grab a paint bucket (which was left conveniently by his bedside for moments like this), using both hands to dump its contents on the floor. The guardian did not hesitate to step into the substance. Soon after, his body disappeared into the colorful puddle and reformed at his desired destination. Ink blinked. The sight of a disheveled skeleton and a messy lab greeted him. Papers covered in coffee stains/complex mathematic equations littered the floor; the substance from his unique teleporting splashed all over the sheets, ruining them further. 

Sci grinned upon noticing his arrival. "Ink, thank go- Why are you not wearing a shirt?"

"Do you want my help or not?"

"Yes?"

"Okay. So, where is this thing you need me to catch?" The guardian glanced around, searching for anything out of the ordinary. However, only standard lab equipment adorned the room. 

"Just in there." The lab coat-wearing skeleton gestured at a closed metal door. Ink rose a brow but did not question his science-loving acquaintance. Instead, he strolled over to it and mentally prepared himself for what could be on the other side. Just as his hand wrapped around the door handle, Sci added, "Be careful. We have no idea what it is capable of." 

He rolled his eyelights and waved dismissively. "Don't worry. It can't be _that_ bad."

Ink crept into the darkened room, quietly closing the door behind. A look around told him how violent Sci's weird demon-thing must be. Lights from various dented machines flickered on and off at random, likely broken somewhere. Scraps of metal littered the floor along with labeled glass shards from beakers, and pieces of porcelain that came together to spell ' _Mad Scientist'_ laid near a wall. Probably that mug Sci mentioned. Or was it a plate? Ink couldn't remember. 

He wandered further into the room with feather light footsteps and slow gait, being as quiet as possible. A shift in the room's darkest corner instantly grabbed his attention. His eyelights morphed, displaying his curiosity for all to see. Stepping closer revealed it to be a rather large, familiar-looking paintbrush. The guardian gasped, "Broomie!"

He excitedly reached for his beloved companion but froze when a horrid noise emanated from it, " _Screee!_ " 

Its bristles twisted together to form three makeshift limbs, which it proceeded to use to inch closer and closer. In the direction of Ink. Said artist's eyelights lit up in fascination and terror. Though, the fascination soon faded as the brush began to quicken its advance. A second screech left its hairy maw as it darted forward and shot sharp bristles at the guardian. The severed hairs punctured Ink's bones like fine needles, causing him to cry out in pain and eye the brush fearfully. 

His Broomie, _the real Broomie_ , would never hurt him. Meaning this crafty impostor couldn't possibly be the real one. 

"Not Broomie! Not Broomie! I repeat: _Not Broomie!_ " Ink wailed, spinning on his heels and bolting to the door. Harsh scrapes against the ground sounded behind him. 

The brush-like creature was pursuing him. 

'Not Broomie' lunged at him, flailing its bristly tendrils like Nightmare on a sugar-high. The guardian narrowly dodged and hopped a few steps back, attempting to distance himself from his weapon's double. A sigh of relief brushed passed his teeth when it whizzed by. However, unable to stop its momentum, the paintbrush crashed into a solid metal cabinet. An eerie hiss tore through its bristles. Chills slithered down Ink's spine while it screeched in rage. 

_This isn't going to be easy..._

A while later, a squeak echoed along the lab walls. Sci started, spilling his coffee on the documents in front of him before turning toward the source. Shadows pooled out from the door Ink had passed through as it slowly creaked open. Once agape, the battered guardian hobbled beyond the doorway with a fistful of paintbrush bristles as his prize; Not counting the ones piercing through bone. _  
_

He stared at Sci, eyelights telling the tale of a frightful battle unlike any other. His voice held no emotion as he said, "Sci, erase the coordinates to that Multiverse and never - and I mean _never_ \- open a gateway leading there again." A shudder crept down his spine. "I don't think I will be able to fight that fake Broomie a second time. Not without getting perpetual nightmares."


	34. Idle Animation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Error hates AUs based on video games. (Oh, the irony.)

" _S-stay still and let me-me destroy y-y-you!_ " 

Blue strings zipped around the forest. Each attempting to strike at a swift blur, and horribly failing as the vague impression of a skeleton instantly moved to another location once they got too close. The shamed threads thus became one with the landscape. Some were tangled between trees and rocks, creating a canopy above. Others found themselves haphazardly strewn along the snow-laden ground like dejected party streamers. A rather frustrated destroyer stood in the middle of the chaos with a snarl on his face. 

" _Heh_. As much as I'd love to, buddy, I can't." The native Sans drawled. Sarcasm dripped from his voice, causing one of his attempted murderer's eye sockets to twitch. 

Error stomped his foot on the ground, childishly, and aimed a few more strings and bone attacks his target. They were effortlessly avoided. A metaphorical vein nearly popped out of the dark-boned skeleton's skull before he roared, "W-why not! Standing still is-is literally the easiest-iest thing a-any li-living abomination can d-do."

"This _is_ my idle animation." 

Another series of attacks missed. Error growled, growing increasingly agitated with each confirmed 'miss.' He ripped a volley of strings from his glitching eye sockets and sent them hurtling toward what soon became the blur's afterimage. His eyelights frantically tracked the movement, trying to pinpoint the other's location. "Y-your creator must ha-have been high-gh out of-of their mind i-if this is you-your idle animation."

"You have no idea." The words seemed thrown and unintelligible due to the Sans' constant motion, but the destroyer managed to decipher them nonetheless. Suddenly the AU's Sans froze. He stood perfectly still, situated with two trees on either side of him. 

A manic grin stretched across the destroyer's jaws. " _H-hah_!" He cheered, shooting more strings in the unmoving monster's direction. The Sans vanished, making his strings to crash into the snow. 

A fierce roar then echoed throughout the forest, reaching the ears of those far away in Snowdin, "Y-y-you did th-that just to-to m-mock me, di-didn't y-you?!"


	35. Eons Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink's new companion has some difficulties adjusting to the modern world.

In a small, colorful room sat a skeleton monster adorned by a black ink splotch on his face; A desk littered by blank and crumpled pages laid before him. The artist fiddled with the normal-sized paintbrush resting between his phalanges. For some time now, Ink had been stuck in the same AU, and while it was entertaining, he began growing bored of the place days ago. Why not leave and journey elsewhere for fun, new adventures? Three days prior, a lost Sans came into his care. The poor soul - _Dream_ , the monster called himself - somehow left his AU, got turned about in the vast Multiverse, and seemed to have no idea how to interact with modern society.

Being the Guardian of AUs, Ink couldn't just leave him to suffer- or attack cars because " _What such beast roars like a bear that is not evil! It must be slain_." It caused quite a stir. Though, he would be lying if he said he did not enjoy watching the spectacle. People frantically screamed as the yellow-clad Sans thwacked their vehicle with his staff, and the resident Sans desperately tried to de-escalate the situation.

" _AH!_ " Speaking of his new friend, that horrified cry of anguish was Dream just now. The guardian sighed and began making his way downstairs.

 _I swear, he better not have been startled by the toaster_ again _. It's not fun after the first- the first..._

A gloved hand brought a portion of the signature tan scarf closer to his face. His eyelights moved left to right while he skimmed through the abundance of notes and reminders. Finally, the mismatched symbols landed on little score counter: Dream vs. Toaster - 0 to 10. _Ten times._ Smudges from constantly erasing the record to update it laid beneath the dark numerals. The shapes housed in his eye sockets transformed into a question mark and an hourglass. He grumbled under his breath, "I could have sworn it was more than ten times." _  
_

The art-loving skeleton then proceeded to throw the scarf's end over his shoulder, continuing his leisurely walk to the room the cry echoed from. Ink soon entered the living room, and the sight awaiting him was one to behold. Dream stood in front of the TV, some live-action cartoon playing on it, with a distraught expression etched onto his skull. Tears welled at the corners of his pinched eye sockets.

"Dream, what's wrong? Is everything okay?" The artist internally sighed, preparing for the answer.

Dream's eyes snapped open, and Ink found himself subject to an intense look of pleading. "There are people trapped the black box! We need to save them!"

"This," Ink strolled closer and knocked his knucks against the television's glass screen. "is a TV. It- uh, lets you watch the stories of the people displayed inside."

"Black magic?!"

A humored snort brushed past the guardian's nasal cavity. With a mirthful smirk and raised eyebrow, he breathlessly uttered, " _What_?" 

"I suspected since the beginning, but I had no proof." The yellow-clad skeleton pointed an accusatory finger at Ink. "You are a demon! And you plan on sealing my soul into one of these moving picture boxes, too, right?"

"Pfft- Well, I can't lie. That does sound fun."

Dream, apparently, failed to grasp the concept of teasing, as he proceeded to back away and proclaim, "Ah-hah! I knew it." Next, the golden-eyed Sans threw open the front door and ran with all his might. 

Ink chuckled, mismatched eyelights gazing in the direction his new friend fled in. 

"Man, this is going to be so much fun!" He cheered, rushing out the door. His gait swift as he continued down the AU's streets. "I better catch up to him before he accuses the barista of witchcraft without me there to see it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ink misses the days when he could convince Dream that cellphones have tiny people in them and that fridges were the work of ice wizards.


	36. Dark Ages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dust ponders why he chose to follow such a technologically inept king.

When a particular hoodie-clad skeleton wrapped a hand around the door handle to his new residence, the last thing he expected to hear was an enraged bellow echoing out the living room. "Fear me, you worthless swine! I have the power to make your worst- Don't you dare turn away from me!"

Hesitantly, Dust pushed open the door to the shadowy, foreboding mansion. His feet stuttered a bit before slowly bringing him inside. A dark skull animated by the viscous substance dripping down it swiveled to face him, piercing his being with a single cyan eyelight. 

"Dust! The people enslaved in the magic box you stole refuse to obey me. Why?" Nightmare huffed, demandingly. 

The murderous Sans rose a brow, questioning, "Wha- Are you talking about the show on the TV?"

The angered Guardian of Negativity snarled and jabbed a bony finger in the direction of the so-called 'magic box.' "No. I am talking about the magic box you used to capture these worthless cretins who can't listen to a king that is right in front of them!"

Dust couldn't stop a small laugh from forcing its way past his jaws. "Nightmare... _Really_?"

"Yes, I am quite serious." A scowl worked its way onto the dark skeleton's face. Black, oozing tendrils lashed behind his back, some coiling as if ready to strike for the impertinent tone. One of the eight appendages snaked around Dust's waist and pulled him face-to-face with Nightmare. He gave a manic grin and spoke in a voice drenched in malice, "You should know by now I am not one for shenanigans or tomfoolery. Now, reveal to me the secrets of your black magic!"

A mental sigh brushed through Dust's mind, only added to by the internal words: _This is weird. And dangerous._

_Still better than all those resets, though._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been about five months, and I keep forgetting to mention how my garden is doing- which would be (surprisingly) still alive. Except for the roses. All, aside from one, died. On another note, I added a few new bushes/trees to my collection. Two dwarf banana trees, a dwarf pomegranate tree, and three blueberry bushes! 
> 
> Still looking to name most of the plants in my garden. Thus far, only the liberty apple tree has been named- It was dubbed "Ambiguous Steve."


	37. Broomie Roomie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into the life of Palette, who has the misfortune of having Broomie as a roommate.

"The end!"

Ink gently closed and placed the storybook on the nightstand next to his son's bed. Said son, the offspring of positivity and creation, laid under a fluffy blanket. A small frown adorned his skull. Palette plucked at the hem of his sleeve before nervously saying, "Dad?"

"Yes, Palette?"

"Why can't Broomie stay in your room with you and mom?" His eyelights drifted over to the aforementioned giant paintbrush, which sat in the darkest corner of his room where the gentle glow of his nightlight did not reach. A chill crept down his spine as the tool's fine bristles seemed to stir and twitch. 

"Eh," Ink shrugged. "I tried to keep him there, but after you were born, he insisted on looming over your crib every night, so I figured I'd just let him do his thing- whatever that may be." 

"C-could you take him, just for tonight? Please?"

"Nah! Broomie gets cranky when I interfere with his life too much. One time, he hid from me for a whole week because I didn't let him hang around the Anti-Void." The forgetful guardian hopped out of his chair, skipping toward the open bedroom door with a cheery grin. He grasped the door handle, pulling the door halfway closed, and gave a soft "Nighty-night, Pal." Promptly shutting the door afterward. 

Palette did nothing as he watched the other abandon him to whatever fate awaited. Shuddering, he used his hands to pull the blanket tightly around himself. A choked whine escaped his jaws when he glanced over to the brush's space only to see it was now empty.


	38. A Little Death Scare (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper's followers take things the tiniest bit too far, leaving him in a very interesting situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! 5,000 views- You guys really know how to make an author feel special. I do have something planned (unlike last time) for this monumental occasion. However, before that takes effect, I intend to finish any remaining requests from the previous event.
> 
> All of you are awesome! <3

Dark storm clouds that stretched far beyond the horizon tainted the blue sky, threatening to soak the mortal lands below. Thunder roared. Lightning crashed, striking the earth with the anger of the gods. Shrubs, grasses, and flowers were whipped around by fierce gales, which periodically swept across the land; trees strained to keep their trunks from bending beneath the force. Local wildlife scoured every place imaginable for suitable shelter- from the dumpsters in alleyways to the chambers of old abandoned buildings. Some dared to burrow into the earth while others sought unoccupied caves/tree hollows. Anywhere dry and protected was fair game. Humans similarly hid in towering skyscrapers and small houses, fearing the destruction the weather was bound to create. However, the streets were not as empty as one would imagine. 

A tiny figure - small enough that one might mistake them for a doll - dashed down the deserted roads, moving under as many slightly elevated obstacles (cars, benches, postboxes, etc.) as possible. Weaving and slipping into hard to reach places, they ran without pause while desperately seeking out a hiding place. Unfortunately, the stretches of open space made it near impossible to vanish from searching eyes. And, though the being appeared to be no more than a black blob due to the dark cloak shrouding them, it provided very little camouflage. 

He, _Reaper_ , the embodiment of _mortality_ and _decay_ , feared for his life and wanted to put some distance between himself and those responsible for the current situation. The rumble of their gait pounded in his invisible eardrums. His bare feet hammered against concrete, shooting discomfort through each tibia/fibula with every step. Rough asphalt scrapped his poor metatarsals and phalanges. The death god would not be surprised if deep red marrow was leaking from the shallow cuts and sores. Regardless, he continued onward. The pain his wounds caused him seemed like a small price to pay for freedom. 

As he traversed the open space, his eyes locked onto the next thing that he could hide under and shifted his course to that direction. The target was a car. Small, dull red, and lived to see more crashes than necessary, judging by the numerous dents and scratches it bore. It would not provide cover for long, yet Reaper still aimed for its inviting shadows. He intended to escape the greedy eyes tracking his every move. Even if for a mere few seconds. While running, a heavy pressure sunk into the cloaked skeleton's bones, making a few joints stiff and difficult to move. Something in the air stirred. Howls ripped through the air as the winds began to rush across the land, slowly building in speed with each passing moment. The soft scent of sky-bound water tickled his nasal cavity. _Rain_ \- It would start raining soon. He could feel it in his bones. 

Reaper quickened his pace despite his body's strong protests. Dampness made its way onto his aching bones, partially due to sweat and somewhat due to marrow leaking from his foot wounds. The small, inverted heart-shaped organ pounding in the morbid god's ribcage worked overtime to regulate his magick flow. His nonexistent lungs heaved for air, leaving him nigh breathless as he zipped down the road. Luckily, the biology of magic skeletons allowed them to survive extended periods without oxygen, so Reaper saved his worry for other matters. Like potentially getting trapped in a heavy downpour with pursuers right on his trail. An activity he had no plans on adding to his itinerary. _Ever_. 

Once approaching the rear bumper of the vehicle, he internally cheered and began a mad dash toward the shadows. The dreaded sensation crawling along his back disappeared as he vanished into the lovely shelter darkness provided. Vulgar curses sounded behind. Reaper, however, concentrated so intensely on relief that his brain did not register the words. His feet swiftly carried him to the opposite end of the car, where they then stuttered to a halt. The harrowing divide between comfortable darkness and unescapable exposure laid before him. Insufficient daylight lightened the asphalt extent beyond and brightened the sparse few structures useable for cover. The God of Death stood at the edge, panting. Aching, bony legs trembled under his weight, daring him to sit down and never walk again. Dark eye sockets gazed behind, and invisible ears listened for footfall dampened by the shrill sky. Focusing, he training his hearing on the distinct noise. A set of clopping hooves along with several pairs of softer treads sounded beneath the winds. Lightning crackled, illuminating the world long enough from him to see a blob of shadows approaching from the distance. His pursuers were not an immediate problem, then. He had a minute or two at most to rest- ample time to lean against the front tire for support and catch his breath, which took little convincing to accomplish.

Reaper shuffled over to the rubbery wheel and slowly allowed his back to ease against it, taking away a bit of the burden his legs carried. A soft sigh brushed passed his jaws as the weight shifted off the damaged bones. The agony coursing through them only lessened a minuscule amount, but the effect still proved to be satisfying. Though, the longer he remained unmoving, the less and less he wanted to continue forward and place more pressure on his legs again. Why would he? He was a _god_. Building up that type of endurance never crossed his mind after spending eons floating/flying around and teleporting to where he needed to go. His brother and many other gods, on the other hand, could walk for days. Hell, even Geno could walk _faster_ and _farther_ than him on a good day. Levitation was Reaper's best (and favorite) form of transportation. 

_Worth a shot_ , he thought. Summoning what little magick was available in his reserves, the tired skeleton willed it to flow through every bone in his body, coating them in a near-invisible light blue glow, and attempted to lift them (and by extension, himself) off the ground. Inch by inch, he climbed into the air. A weary grin stretched across his skull as he gained enough height to wiggle his toes freely, without meeting any earthward resistance. The happy expression wavered when the delicate glow encompassing his bones sputtered and vanished. Soon the god found himself falling feet-first to earth. He floundered in the air, flailing his arms like a helpless hatchling and struggling to reignite the levitation magick. It did little to ease the impact. Upon meeting asphalt, a sharp sting shot up the already throbbing bones, causing a pained grunt to escape Reaper's throat. He glared down at them with narrowed eye sockets, feeling betrayed. 

_Damn!_

_That transformation left me weak- weaker than I have ever been. How long will I be able to hold out? I know I can't run forever._ _  
_

A hand came up to clutch the left side of his chest. Higher up and to the right laid the skeleton's second most prized possession (the first being the wedding ring Geno gave him), something worn on the dark cloak every day without fail. To most, it appeared to be a mere trinket- a draconic skull pendant that rested on the front of the article, attached where a metal clasp fastened the two sides of the hood. But it was so much more than that. His father or creator, _Gaster_ , gifted the pendant to him shortly after his 'birth.' It held an unimaginable amount of power. That of the likes humans had warred over in past eons. _  
_

_Dare I- Dare I unleash this formidable power?_

The cloaked skeleton shook his head, hand slowly drifting in the opposite direction of the artifact and limply falling to the side.

_No._

_No, I can't. There is no telling how it will affect my current form. That much raw magic rushing through a tiny, frail body like this may very well obliterate it. And I'd prefer to make it home to Geno and my brother in one piece._

With a sharp breath, he stepped toward the rift separating him from those on the hunt- those whos gait was becoming louder and louder by the second. Invisible eyelights scanned the beyond. A postbox laid behind a wooden bench on the left side of the sidewalk roughly eleven feet ahead. Broken and damaged boxes abandoned by inconsiderate people surrounded its base, making it impossible to scurry underneath the metallic mail-holder. Being beaten by the harsh winds had caused the awkward stack to explode into disarray. Some boxes looked ready to tumble off without short notice. Sight drifting in the opposite direction, Reaper noticed that not a single form of cover laid on the other sidewalk. It was an open field decorated by a fire hydrant and several lampposts. Worryingly, even cars were absent from the asphalt road extending past the horizon. Meaning the bench would be his only protection unless he managed to devise a plan before his pursuers get too close. 

He clenched his teeth, mentally preparing himself, and bolted out from under the car, intending to make up any ground lost during his short break. The physical strain aggravated his poor, ancient soul. Pain nipped at his heels and burrowed into the sore bones, making itself at home like a tick snuggled in a dog's fur coat. Sadly, the skeleton's growing familiarity with its presence did not make it any more tolerable. Then a sharp chill crept up his spine as the bench drew nearer. The unsettling gaze had returned, adding onto the stress. Its voracious eyes froze his bones to the core and induced panic and uneasiness in his soul while seemingly piercing through his black cloak and eyeing the bones beneath. A cold sweat broke out on Reaper's back. If he had normal eyelights, they would have reduced to mere pinpricks at this point- or vanished entirely. Shuddering, he used the distant postbox's shiny surface to view the people running close behind. The reflection showed seven robed figures in pursuit. 

The first, and at the head of the pack, was a cloven-hooved bipedal monster with two curled horns poking out the hood of their robe. A raven's skull laid where the clothing item fastened around his neck. _Ajax_ , if Reaper recalled correctly. However, doubt lingered in the back of his mind. As a God of Death, there were many more significant activities/tasks than memorizing the names his followers went by. Therefore, he could not trust himself to recollect any of their chosen monikers. What he did know was Ajax's role amongst his following. (Many gods found it crucial to keep track of those loyal and those not. No one wanted to smite or curse the wrong person, after all. And, naturally, one needed to be sure they were rewarding the right person for their devotion.) The middle-aged monster led those devoted to the God of Death in the lower, northwestern half of Europe. Other than that, Reaper's mind supplied nothing relevant about the crazy goat. His nonexistent eyelights moved to examine the others. Two dog monsters (a jackal-esque male and a rottweiler-like female) flanked their leader. Following close behind them was a cat monster, two rabbit monsters, and a lizard monster.

The tiny skeleton grimaced, directing his attention back to the open road. Three monsters with a decent nose on their face made hiding difficult. How on earth would he lose them? Hiding under the upcoming bench hardly seemed plausible- eventually, someone would reach under and grab him. If not that, then he may become surrounded and forced to surrender or starve/give in to fatigue. Either way ended with him being caught. As disgusting as the notion may be, perhaps he could conceal himself in a garbage can or dumpster. Geno would, without a doubt, ban him from kisses and cuddles until the stench was gone, but Reaper could live with that if it meant evading his pursuers; Especially since he did _not_ want to know what they planned on doing once they caught him. Whatever it was, though, seemed to be the opposite of moral due to the situation at hand. 

Puffing out labored breaths, he straining his tiny legs to carry him further and further for those chasing after him. He kept his head faced forward, refusing to spare a backward glance over his shoulder. Possibly out of fear for the group merely a few paces behind. Or, more plausibly, fearing that the gesture would slow him down and allow the cretins a chance to snag him. All seemed well as he approached the wooden legs of the bench until a sudden gust of wind blew through the streets. The gust caught his cloak, attempted to push him into the hands of his pursuers, forcing him to slow and stumble back several steps. Before it could propel him further, his little arms latched onto the nearby bench leg, barely fitting around, to prevent himself from being swept away. 

His arms began to throb as the force of nature raged on, and each air push made his ironclad grasp slip more and more. It would be a lie if Reaper said he wasn't the slightest bit worried. Or afraid. Or utterly terrified of the consequences of losing his grip/letting go. The duty he fulfilled took him many places within his AU- the mortal realm, the dwelling of Reapertale's panthéon, and all planes in between. In the event the shrunken skeleton got captured, Geno may notice something amiss when he fails to return home to harass him with late-night snuggles. But it would be nigh impossible for the genius to locate Reaper quickly. Let alone save him from his crazed followers. The worst part was: Geno saw this coming, and Reaper completely ignored the other's concerns and placed too much faith in the loyalty of his followers. He wished he had taken his lover's concerns more seriously. Had listened to what Geno attempted to tell him. If the tiny god had- well, then he would be in an entirely different situation right about now. Their conversation haunted the depth of his mind even now, taunting him for disregarding the concerns thrown his way.


	39. Elder Tomes VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink further introduces Dream to the world of technology.

Light from the TV filled the dimly lit living room. Its rectangular screen displayed a bipedal feline with disproportionate features- tiny hands, too large eyes, stubby legs, awkwardly sized head, etc. The creature shifted between jumping, punching, and shouting at the surrounding villagers, who seemed to take offense from the action. Every so often, different menus displaying various things (items, spells, and skills) would pop up, promptly disappearing afterward.

Ink grinned, staring at the TV while mashing random buttons. He may or may not have forgotten which buttons made his character move, and which one brought up the menu to show him what each button did. His scarf was of no use either. Any notes regarding the video game were nonexistent since the artist never wrote any. Thus, causing a bout of messing around until he managed to find the right one.

A soft rustle sounded to the left and drew Ink's eyelights away from his game for a second before they bounced back to the TV.

Dream lingered in the doorway, head tilted to the side with slightly narrowed eye sockets. Curiosity shone in his voice as he asked, "Noble demon of writing utensils, what jovial activities are you participating in on this fine morn?"

"Oh, just playing this new game that was released recently! Probably the only one playing it since it's not even available in this AU- You would not believe that effort I had to go through to get it!" Ink rambled, not once bothering to take his eyelights off the screen. "A bee kept chasing me because I forgot I put these pretty flowers in my scarf. And- And last week, this weird human threw rocks at me; It was fun until Broomie tripped him and left me to take care of the body!"

"I- I see..." The yellow-clad skeleton's voice held more horror towards Ink's recount than astonishment or interest. He then nervously stammered, "M-may I watch? I have never seen a 'game' like this one."

"Heh-he! Sure, it will be way more fun with an audience!" 

A gloved hand patted the open sofa cushion. Dream cautiously accepted the invitation, slowly stepping over and situating himself on the plush surface. His yellow eyelights fell upon Ink's cat monstrosity. The tentative smile along his jaws quickly found itself replaced by a small frown. However, the Guardian of Positivity said not a word as he watched the character spaz throughout the village. Shortly the feline came to a halt by a villager and struck them. A horrified gasp echoed across the room.

Seeing this as a golden opportunity, Ink repeatedly pressed the button, causing his character to punch over and over again. The villager screamed for mercy, for the guards, as their health bar decreased with each successful hit. 

Dream howled in anguish, "No, stop! You're killing them!" His hand stretched toward the TV, alight with healing magic. The effort was in vain, though, since his magic could not reach them nor ease their suffering. A forlorn expression clouded his face at the realization. 

"Pfft- Well, yeah, that _is_ the point of the game." Ink stated, nonchalantly.

The skeleton beside him puffed up in rage, crying, "How dare you treat life like a game?! And to kill these innocents so mercilessly with your otherworldly avatar, perhaps you are more of a beast than I originally estimated."

At those words, a brilliant idea popped into Ink's head. His eye sockets went dark - void of their mirthful shapes and colors - while his jaws spread into a wide, jagged-toothed grin. He turned to face the righteous monster, who screamed bloody murder upon meeting his gaze. Almost immediately, Dream scrambled off the couch and through the nearest door, muttering prayers under his breath as he left.

Ink chuckled to himself while reverting his face to normal. "Heh. If I had known he was that easy to scare, I would have tried that ages ago!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Years later, Dream was still unconvinced that video game characters were not avatars used by gods and demons. Which confused most people, as he would often state, "I am going to walk amongst the mortals of *Insert Game Title*" before sitting down on the couch and turning on the game console. Ink finds this piece of Dream's past hilarious and brings it up as much as possible and in the worst situations.


	40. Doom: Eternal Negativity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dust introduces Nightmare to a new way to induce negativity.

Nightmare and Dust sat on the manor's large couch, staring at the decent-sized TV in front of them. The former held an upside-down video game console controller in his hands. His cyan eyelight twinkled with suspicion as he inspected the colorful scenery on display. A masculine figure baring green/orange armor and guns stood motionless in the center of the screen; Dark rocks and lava made up the surrounding area, posing many dangers to the novice gamer. The Guardian of Negativity hummed curiously. Testing a button, the armored character inch forward before breaking out into a full sprint and stopping a millimeter away from the bubbling magma. 

"So, this _vid-ee-oh_ game-" He started, only to be cut off mid-sentence. 

"Video game." Dust received a menacing scowl at the correction. 

"Yes, _that_." Nightmare hissed, adding, "I can use it to inflict negativity upon others?"

The hoodie-clad skeleton shrugged. "Pretty much. In this one, all you need to do is steal kills and camp- which will make almost any player instantly anger, sad, or annoyed."

"I find one problem with this."

"What? It should be easy. Plus, I already explained how to play the game three times. We are not going over it a fourth!"

"No, not with the game. I comprehend how to play it perfectly. Besides, we wouldn't have to had to go over it so many times if you were better at explaining things." Nightmare jeered, promptly gesturing to a small line of text located by his character's health bar. "My username. Why must it be ' _snugglefluffin69_ '? I don't even know what that means!"

Dust fought back a grin and waved a hand dismissively. "Heh. Don't worry about it. 'S an insult people use nowadays."

The dark guardian's eye socket narrowed. The positivity emanating from the other was hard to ignore and made it difficult to believe the words were a mere insult. He leveled his jaws with a crafty smirk, stating, " _Intriguing_. You must share more of these new-age vulgar words and insults with me, so I may properly scorn my brother when we once again meet."


	41. Visiting Friends (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Blue goes, his demons follow.
> 
> (Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't intended to post this story until later in October, but I don't have anything else ready to post, and this note is mildly important.
> 
> The 5k special may be further delayed since, yesterday, my computer decided to journey into the great beyond to fulfill its true calling as a paperweight. Meaning: I lost everything I had prepared for the special. Instead of dwelling on what used to be, I am going to switch things up a bit and ask you one question: How do you feel about an ask event for the meantime?
> 
> All characters will be available for questions, pranks, and possibly even dares; This includes story variants, like Reaper from "Your Ghost" and Reaper from "Grand Theft Latte." (Characters might be given nicknames to avoid confusion.) And, based on the character's experiences, it may later be referenced in their story or affect it in some way.

Soft, white clouds lagged across the sky. A bright gaseous ball that many called the 'sun' slowly climbed through the blue expanse, aspiring to reach its peak. The daylight filtered past the pastel orange curtains of the standard Undertale brothers' house and illuminated the skeletons playing about and chatting inside. On the old green sofa, Edge and Classic swapped their best puns with each other while their brothers clattered around in the kitchen, cooking up a storm. The two royal guardsmen had entered a daring dual of cookery. Only the most excellent pasta dish would win. Stretch sat at the table with crossed arms and his chin resting on the wooden surface, ensuring that the passionate chefs did not start a fire. 

Their little monthly get-together seemed perfect. Everyone was getting along and having a fun time. However, someone was absent from the group. That someone being a skeleton who was known for a signature dish (tacos) and a gentle smile that could melt the heart of the wildest beast. Blue, the cheery older brother of Underswap Papyrus, had yet to arrive at the designated house for their usual activities- a cook-off/pun-off, dinner, board games, and a movie night. In fact, the other missed out on the past two gatherings. Each time he gave an excuse that fell somewhere along the lines of having something important to take care of or being busy. And, surprisingly, Blue agreed to attend this time. 

Though, it hardly eased the copious worries the five skeletons held for the suddenly reclusive monster. Some would not outright admit to worrying, but it showed. Red eyelights occasionally flicked over to the front door, and a tall, commanding figure regularly peeked out of the kitchen, checking for the small Sans. 

Classic and Edge punned back and forth until a sudden knock sounded at the front door. The noise caused both skeletons to freeze and grin at each other. Soon the kitchen entrance found itself crowded by Papyrus and Fell, who slipped into the area simultaneously; Their orange-wearing counterpart failed to join them. Presumably asleep. They gazed at the door with a hopeful and reserved expression, respectively. Classic lept out his seat with an energy and speed no one anticipated before anyone else took a single step toward the door. Who could blame him? After two months of minimal contact with Blue, they all wanted to see the lively skeleton with their own eye sockets and determine whether or not he seemed okay. It could not be easy living on his own for the first time, especially without having his brother around. But maybe, just maybe, that was an excuse to shy away from the fact that the other was so greatly missed. The cheery skeleton was more than capable of taking care of himself, after all. 

Eagerly, Classic's bony hand unbolted the door and flung it wide open. Light filtered through the doorway, reflecting off a pearly white surface, revealing the person to be everyone's anticipated guest: Blue (and most definitely not the random stranger or mailman that everyone half expected to stand there like a sick joke). The Underswap skeleton stood tall with a bright smile spread across his face, which seemed to brighten further once he saw his friends. His electric blue eyelights sparked, vibrant and full of magic/joy. A few eyebrows raised regardless. Instead of his battle body, an ensemble consisting of a light blue polo shirt, a pair of light grey shorts with matching sneakers, and his signature blue bandana clothed him. No one noticed the chain leash held firmly by his hand.

The grin on Classic's skull widened. In his typical lazy timbre, he said, "Blue, I'm glad you could- _FUCK_!"

A hulking form bolted past the doorway and lunged at him as a terrifying snarl ripped through its throat. He stumbled backward, narrowly preventing a series of sharp teeth from tearing into his face by tripping and landing on his rear. His eyelights extinguished when the maw of his would-be attacker stopped before him, teeth gnashing at air; swollen red eyelight boring into his frantically beating soul. All breath fled Classic's nonexistent lungs.

Looming over him was a monster. A skeleton like him. _Yet not_.

He quickly noted the monster was decidedly male- if his own minor resemblances to them were any indication. Jagged fangs lined the other's jaws, set in a borderline feral grin that could cause even a baby Fell to cry. Claw-tipped phalanges on chipped, partially bandaged hands dug into the floor on either side of him, their razor-sharp tips slipping deep into the hardwood floorboards with ease. Classic shuddered at the thought of what those nails would do if flesh or bone laid beneath them instead. His vacant eye sockets slowly crept up to study the top of the growling skeleton's skull. A gaping hole surrounded by sharp, broken edges adorned the back-left side of the bone structure, likely contributing to the unhinged behavior and abnormal eyelight. Based on the length of his bones and stature, he would reach Papyrus' shoulders if he stood up straight and surpass the height of every Sans in the room. It was a wonder that Blue's hold could restrain him from charging forward and killing everyone. Especially given how violently the other thrashed against the bonds securing him to his keeper. As the brute tugged forward, the surprisingly clean dark blue hoodie and black shorts he wore wrinkled.

A pained gag soon escaped the crazed skeleton's throat as his chain collar pushed on a sensitive vertebra. In response, he stumbled closer to Blue and leveled Classic with a ravenous glare as his leash slackened slightly. The original Undertale Sans did not have the guts or spine to remove his eye sockets from the dangerous creature, fearing that once he did, the other would not hesitate to attempt another attack.

Throughout the stare down, his onlooker's posture remained flawlessly reminiscent of a predator worse than those lurking in the underbelly of Underfell's darkest caverns- faux muscles coiled and ready to pounce. Which precisely was what the lazy skeleton feared. Aggressive magic flicked to life somewhere in the room. Quite possibly the doing of one of the Underfell brothers, or an overprotective Stretch. Cautiously, Classic maneuvered his arms behind himself and began to crawl backward.

The further from Blue's "unique friend" he got, the more the weight bearing down on his soul vanished.

"What the fuck is _that_!" Edge screeched, scrambling onto the couch's backrest while snagging a cushion to create a barrier between him and the threat. Papyrus was so stunned by the appearance of their surprise guest he neglected to scold the Underfell inhabitant for his vulgar language.

Unfortunately for Edge, his outburst caught the chained monster's attention. The unnamed skeleton promptly turned in his direction, blood-red eyelight searing into the pillow, and began to growl before tugging at his bonds again.

Blue gasped and pulled his hands close to his chest, which caused the leash in his left hand to tug his companion back over to him. The broken-headed monster grunted as he landed ungracefully at the other's feet. His already menacing face twisted in a snarl, seemingly displeased but not enough to turn on the person holding him back; the rumbles radiating from his throat refused to die down. Pulling himself into a sitting position, he returned his predatorial gaze to the mustard-loving skeleton. Edge visibly shuddered. Meanwhile, Fell looked half ready to skewer the beast in order to protect the household- red magic sparking threateningly, a calculating gleam in his sockets, a basic defensive pose. Everything about him screamed, "ready for a fight."

Classic, on the other hand, silently gaped at Blue's display of strength. Sometimes, he could not help but wonder if the Underswap Sans was secretly a Judge or Boss Monster. Likely neither, but still the other had to have something special about him for that unnatural strength to be a thing. 

Shaking out of his stupor, he aimed a few choice words at their long-waited guest, " _Blue, what the hell?!_ "


	42. An Insult of the Highest Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Legend of the Legendary Legend allegendly dubbed the Legending of Legends. Also, Cross offends a demonic Nightmare.

"Surely, you jest," bellowed an incensed voice, timbre as dark as a moonless night and more profound than the most bottomless chasm.

The cause of such a harrowing roar stood straight, posture the embodiment of authority and lethality, at the center of a dark-stoned shrine surrounded by a thick, shadowy forest. Vicious goo clung to the figure's bones and occasionally dripped on the stone bricks below. Black and purple robes adorned by silvery, intricate swirling patterns covered their form, seemingly unaffected by the foul ooze. They- or more accurately, he was the keeper of this forgotten shrine.

The Inimical Shrine. Better known as the resting place of Nightmare, a fallen god.

Oozing tendrils swayed behind him, signaling his displeasure. One such appendage struck the temple grounds with a mighty _thump_ that echoed along the room's hallowed walls. The monster crouched before Nightmare flinched and shrunk back ever-so-slightly, jostling the offering they held out for him. An offer the god sneered at.

He emitted a low growl and stated, "You are serious, are you not? _This_ is your offering to _me_. "

Cross - the warrior proclaimed his name prior to Nightmare's summoning - giving a nervous chuckle and slight nod, shifting the white fur pelts lining his leather armor.

Nightmare eyed him, thoroughly appalled and outraged by the pure audacity of the mortal in front of him. A snarl twisted on his face. "You summon me - a greater arche-demon of nature and negativity, the _Nightmare_ who haunts the strongest warriors' dreams - and wish to seal our pact with _a rotten_ , _moldy stub of a twig_."

"Yes?"

"I have never been so insulted by a mere mortal!" He ended the sentence by stomping his foot on the ground.

Making a deep hiss, the oozing skeleton glowered at the obnoxiously monochrome warrior before conceding. "However, it's not like anyone better has shown up in the past thousand years." Cross' expression brightened at the words. Nightmare couldn't help but feel his rising hope- _disgusting positivity_. "And, even with your pathetic ' _offering_ ,' I will be unbound from my current resting place and able to traverse the lands once more, capable of invoking terror and misery in the foolish souls that dare to cross my path."

Cross beamed at the god, not minding the ominous implications in the slightest. "So, you'll form a pact with me?"

"Indeed." Nightmare then lit a hand with deep cyan magic and reached for the wretched twig. "Fortunately for you, I am that desperate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And all was at peace in Cross's life- until Nightmare discovered that he would have no choice but to take up residence in his brother's domain, which happened to be where his new companion lives.


	43. Request: Prepare For Trouble; Make It Double! (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Geno and Error are the same person, Error can change his form of Error to Geno whenever he wants, use this ability to take a break from destroying being the god of destruction. But without realizing it, he falls in love with two monsters, Reaper who is in love with Geno and Nightmare who is in love with Error. When these two discover that Geno and Error are the same person, they start a competition to see who falls in love with Geno/Error first. The poor god of destruction meanwhile has to suffer from the two fools in love. 
> 
> (This glorious story was requested by NekuDog.)

Secrets. Everyone had secrets- from big to small and minor to earth-shattering. Some examples being: Blueberry's deep loathing for Dream. The surprisingly well-hidden knowledge that Ink, the Multiverse's creator and guardian, had not even a sliver of a soul in his body. Nightmare, a Sans labeled by the ignorant as evil incarnate, loved his brother. And perhaps a cartoon containing a certain equine dreamwalker. The 90's virus terrorizing AUs was deathly afraid of Furbys. Sci believed extraterrestrial lifeforms or humans were trying to kidnap him. (As if the paranoid scientist didn't already sleep with one eye open. Monsters from everywhere in the Multiverse sought his vast knowledge and expertise; some more than willing to kidnap him to obtain it.) And, of course, Cross convinced himself that cheese was a conspiracy invented by cows in order to mind-control the populace. Weird? Yes, but a secret was a secret no matter how strange.

Speaking of abnormal secrets, the Multiverse's own Destroyer of AUs kept an arguably dangerous one. One that not even his closest allies knew about or even dared to consider. One that could put a target on the back of a reputable yet reclusive monster: _Genocide_.

He and Geno had a unique relationship. No, they were not brothers like some silently suspected. Their bond was much more complicated, much more connected. While both appeared to be drastically different - one a seemingly cold-hearted criminal and the other a moody but caring recluse, they shared many similarities; Like the same body and the same soul. In simpler terms, the two were not separate beings but, in fact, the very same person. _That_ was Error's most coveted secret.

He lived a double life.

Half the time, he spent his days as the God of Destruction, eliminating any broken, corrupted, or virus-infected AUs; Managing the code in core AUs to prevent a collapse from occurring. Ink, unsurprisingly, did very little to keep them stable despite being their protector. Thus, leaving Error with an extra task. Not that the dark skeleton minded too much because, this way, he could better ensure the health of Aftertale, Underswap, Outertale, Undernovela, Reapertale, and Haventale (Nightmare's residence).

Aside from the aforementioned tasks, he took some time to hang around his fellow miscreants and aid them in their chores around the Multiverse. The Guardian of Negativity and his ragtag team of rejected Sanses were Error's favorite to visit. They knew when to be serious and when to have fun; And were far easier to get along with than 404, Fresh, or Infected. The glitch may not admit it, but he rather enjoyed Nightmare's company in their downtime and on the battlefield. Plus, operating with them worked in his favor more often than not. Together, they spread negativity and destruction in half the time it would take if they acted alone.

When work slowed and little needed completed, he wore a guise of his former self and returned to where monsters and humans knew him by a sole name: Genocide, the second Sans of Aftertale and bloody glitch of the Save Screen. He could relax and move about fearlessly during these times. Essentially, doing whatever he wanted (within reason) without being attack by righteous fools or framed for any crimes. It was like a break or vacation from his job. But, of course, being a known figure in the Multiverse, Geno had to make regular appearances to avoid suspicion from those closest to him. Especially from Reaper, who often came to visit the glitch after their first meeting. After (his second half), on the other hand, hardly visited as he and Geno did not see eye-to-eye on specific matters- i.e., condoning the destruction of timelines.

Currently, the God of Destruction stood on a cliff's edge surrounded by colorful novas and burning stars set in multi-shaded skies. The purple, light blue, and pink hues of which were an eye-catching wonder. No matter how many times Error saw them, his eyelights never failed to fixate on the expanse with never-ending awe. Behind him sat a dense forest of pine trees. Their close proximity to each other and far-reaching branches created a thick canopy of shadows perfect for hiding in. He would know, as the living barrier concealed his favorite stargazing spot and kept Outertale's residents from spotting him; only a select few knew the location existed. Stardin's citizens rarely ventured into the forest in fear of getting lost or tumbling off the very edge of their small, little world.

The Void was not something to be trifled with, after all. Once fallen in, one could not "fall" out. They were forever doomed to traverse an amaranthine space alongside those who had come before them.

As for who did know about the quaint, stargazing nook: Aside from Error himself, there existed solely three other souls that knew of the location and the magnificent view it overlooked. Those three being monsters the destroyer dared to hold close to his heart- Blue, Reaper, and Nightmare. The accursed trio wormed their way into his life - and into his withered soul - before he had a chance to stop them. Because, by the time he realized he held the slightest inkling of care for them, it was already too late. They became a friend/ally.

Not that he could get rid of them if he wanted to. The three skeletons shared an aggravating trait, _stubbornness_. Something that Error himself was very guilty of possessing. And expressing. _Regularly_.

Cosmic winds skimmed across the floating islands. Its stardust-carrying current brushed against his black bones and littered them with little sparkling specks that clung to his clean (-ish) attire as well. The fine powder sparkled like stars on his deep blue scarf as it fluttered in the breeze. Error silently cursed the AU's natural glitter. It was the sole downside to visiting Outertale. Stardust always found its way into hard to reach places and refused to be easily cleaned up. Regardless, it did have a certain charm in specific situations. For example, the times the substance got caught in Nightmare's sludge, making the dark lord shimmer like a mini galaxy, or when it stuck to Reaper's cloak and created a vast starscape on canvas as dark as night. Those instances were some of the destroyer's favorites. But it was less enjoyable when the tables turned. Especially after the time he went on a destruction spree and got made fun of by Ink for being "a ball of angry, glitter yarn."

Though, in the past, Reaper once stated that he looked fetching with stardust glistening in his blood. When in his Genocide form, of course. Receiving such a compliment from the death god as Error would bring a myriad of different feelings.

Speaking of the handsy old bird, it was high time he paid Geno a visit. The black-boned skeleton heaved a sigh; Using a hand, he opened an interface displaying an intricate calendar system. To the top left laid a circular gauge with two lines cutting it into four separate areas. Each portrayed a different symbol. In order, they showed a pink flower, a yellow sun, a brown oak leaf, and a white snowflake. Every area, excluding the one containing the oak leaf, was darkened. Meaning the AU was presently experiencing autumn. Positioned underneath it were a thermometer, clock, and weather forecast bar. Nearby, sperate tabs containing the names of his most frequented AUs floated atop a seven-by-six table. Dates lined each section while the matching weekdays sat on their own row above. Unused cells remained blacked out.

Error pressed the tab labeled "Aftertale." Through a series of ones and zeros, the calendar transitioned over, and the seasonal gauge changed to a snowflake. Mismatched eyelights scanned the data for relevant information. Soon they came to a halt on a specific date. The highlighted day contained a shorthand note telling him that Reaper would be visiting the Save Screen sometime that day. Thus, confirming his suspicions. The destroyer's eyelights flick over to the clock. According to the display, he still had a little bit before he needed to change and go to the endless dark space; the sooner, the better given Reaper's habit of enforcing impromptu visiting hours.

With the wave of a hand, the calendar became ones and zeros before completely vanishing. In its place, a new interface popped up, displaying a long series of tabs and lists and tasks. A quick check through the digital logbook showed that no other work needed to be complete for a while. Though, he did have a meeting with Nightmare scheduled within the upcoming week, which the black-boned skeleton silently looked forward to attending. He waved the log away and pointed his eye sockets toward the colorful, star-laden sky. It was still as breathtaking as ever. Perhaps he could stay for a short time? The Save Screen's bleak scenery paled in comparison to Outertale's visible novas and galaxies; Error could only appreciate the darkness for so long before it became boring. Not to mention, watching the ongoing (repeating) events in his AU was less than an enjoyable pastime. Despite numerous attempts, he failed to alter the universe's storyline or convince After to go through with his utterly brilliant plan. But, until that day, he would keep their AU alive.

"I-if only you'd lis-is-isten to my-my absolute ingenious p-plan." The destroyer stated, gazing out into the bottomless expanse below the stars. He basked in the moment- pondering what was, what could have been, and what had yet to be discovered. Of Outertale's qualities, its most impressive one had to be the way it caused people to think and consider possibilities, even if those thoughts carried little positivity. However, the silence and peace were more than enough from Error.

Shortly a cacophony of voices broke the quiet.

 _Your plan's not_ that _great._

_I think it could work. Just keep trying, and one day he'll give in to your devilish charms!_

_After!Classy and Geno together? Isn't that a bit weird?_

_'S not Aftermath, but I ship it!_

_Are we sure we want to give Error these thoughts? It may ruin his relationship with After more than it already is._

_What would the Multiverse look like if Blue had a Lust variant?! Wouldn't that be-_

Error groaned and buried his face in his hands before dragging them down, scowling the outlines of entities no other could see or hear. Of course, they chose now to invade his quiet moment in Outertale. Despite leaving him alone for a solid two hours.

_Way to kill the moment._

Huffing, the dark skeleton turned away from their ethereal forms. All Error wanted to do was enjoy the serenity of his favorite space-themed AU before preparing to get his nonexistent ears talked off by a chatty death god- _Reaper and_ _his stupid, intriguing stories_. Why couldn't he quit beating around the bush and tell Geno (Error) how the story ends? Was it a crime of passion? Did the Duchess secretly poison the Archimage out of jealousy? Or, perhaps, the Queen and Judge murdered him to remove a witness of their affair?

The God of Destruction stomped a foot on the ground and roared, "A-A-GH! T-the suspense-ense is k-k-killing me-me!"

_SUSPENSE!_

_It was the potato all along!_

_I bet - someway, somehow - Ink is to blame._

_Dreamboat did, didn't he?! He got jealous that no one wants to love the Guardian of Positivity._

_Actually, in the end, it was Archimage himself who-_

" _T-th-that's it_ \- Y-you are-are all b-ban from talking to-to m-me!" Error spun on his heels and scoured the area with narrowed eye sockets. Only trees, rocks, and snow-like stardust registered in his poor field of vision. Mentally shrugging, he thought, _This is as okay a place as any. There's no chance of Ink or Fresh popping up behind me mid-transformation, either._

A flurry of white square/rectangular glitches encompassed the destroyer's feet and slowly worked upward until they obscured his entire body. They dispersed moments later, leaving behind a red scarf-wearing, white skeleton. His lab coat fluttered along with his neckwear in the glittering breeze. Not a sound echoed across the space- mental or otherwise. The sheer nothingness vibrating through the air was quickly broken by soft static radiating off the glitch's glitches.

Geno smirked, victorious.

_Peace at last. Or until someone else decides to bother me- like Sci and his hour-long sessions of sharing scientific notes and discoveries.  
_

Unknown to the God of Destruction, two skeletons bore witness to his lackluster transformation. (Blue - the only monster trusted enough to keep this secret - was very disappointed when he first saw it, stating that it was "nothing like the epic costume changes in the animes me and Alphys watch.")

And, fortunately for him, neither belonged to his ever-growing troop of enemies.


	44. Old Bedtime Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretch and Red unearth a box of old storybooks.
> 
> (Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Stretch wheezed, setting down yet another heavy box onto a disorganized stack; Then using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The task - moving his things from his and Blue's old home - seemed to be far harder than he anticipated. Invisible eyelights came to rest on the boxes before him. A small part of his soul died at the thought of going through all of them- Frankly, the idea alone might have caused him to lose one HP. Or more.

How couldn't it? Blue, bless his lively little soul, kept so many things from when Stretch was young. One would have to feign surprise if a box contained an old baby blanket or tiny pajamas. Plus, the orange-clad skeleton's own collection of puzzle-y doodads and gizmos undoubtedly helped add to the workload. Quite a hefty number had accumulated over the years. More than he ever dreamed or wanted.

At the sound of a labored grunt, Stretch glanced toward the doorway to see his partner in crime with a box in tow. The stout Underfell monster hissed, bones creaking as he flopped the square object on the pile.

Stretch gave the other a sympathetic wince and offered an awkward thanks, "Hey, Red. Thanks for helping me move and unpack all this stuff. Don't think I could do it without you."

The other huffed and rolled his eyelights. "Heh. Not a problem. It just warms my dusty ol' heart to see a Papyrus spread their wings and fly." He sauntered back to the pile of boxes neatly stacked outside the front door, adding, "Was quite surprised to hear ya decided to move away from little Blue. Never thought I'd see that day- you know, with how clingy Boss is and that fact 'tale Paps refuses to leave his brother's side."

"It wasn't an easy decision, but now that we're on the surface, Blue deserves to have some personal space- a castle to call his own."

Red snorted at the comment. "Ya got a funny way of sayin' ya want to leave trash on the floor and not get yelled at."

"I suppose that's an added bonus." And it was. Stretch was a grown skeleton, not a little kid anymore. He could make smart - and dumb - decisions for himself, like leaving trash on the living room floor only to trip on it later.

A pained hiss emanated by the doorway. Stretch's unfortunate helper stood halfway in the room, arms quivering beneath the weight of the box he held. " _Shit_ , this box is heavy. The hell did ya put in here?"

"Not sure. Think it might be one of the boxes Blue packed for me." He replied, stepping over to help the other.

"Well, then, let's find out." Red quickly set the box in the middle of the walkway. A sharp-tipped bone appeared in his hand. Carefully, he wedged the blade between the cardboard edges and sliced through the packing tape. Stretch silently watched; As the folds opened, his expression took a turn from casual lazy to downright mortified.

Red raised an eyebrow. "Books?"

Indeed, it was books. Books that had strikingly familiar covers that Stretch thought he would never see again.

"Those are the stories Blue used to read to me when I was little. I could have sworn I threw those in the deepest, darkest pit available in Waterfall." The last sentence was no more than a mere horrified whisper escaping earshot.

The Underfell skeleton examined a random book cover before growling, "Dude, what the actual fuck? I thought yours was supposed to be one of the happier universes!"

"Well, it is. Our literature is just a tad dark..."

"No, this is more than ' _just a tad fucking dark'-_ It's downright morbid! Your brother, _Blue_ , the literal walking ray of sunshine, read this to you when you were a kid?!" Red exclaimed. However, soon, the color drained from his face. In a shocked tone, he murmured, "Oh god, is that why nothing creepy, terrifying, and horrendously revolting bothers him? Because he's too used to messed up shit to be fazed by it."

"I mean, I never thought of it that way."

"Stretch," Red pulled the other down and clamped both hands firmly on his shoulders. Looking straight into his eye sockets with a serious expression, he continued, "after we finish this, I am going to find the greatest of all fuckin' children's books and read you the best damn bedtime story you've ever heard in your life."

"O- okay?" Stretch warily eyed the skeleton as he returned to their job with new vigor.

_I've never felt so cared for yet so threatened in my life._


	45. Winged Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red's not happy with Reaper's new pastime, and Geno is Geno.
> 
> (Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Chatter echoed along the long walls of the Council's conference room as the occupants sat around a large circular table, talking to one another. At least fifty different Sanses filled the seats, with a few left empty from absent council members. The conversations were chaotic. Some got confused about who was answering which questions or talking. The curse of sharing a similar voice, one might say. Ink, who was positioned at the "head" of the table, paid no mind to the serious, borderline insane discussion going on in favor of doodling a sketch of Error. Meanwhile, Dream and Blue desperately attempted to calm everyone down to no avail. Many talked over them or refused to listen.

Suddenly the room's massive ornate doors flew open and banged against the walls, causing the room to fall silent. Standing in the middle of the entryway was a black/red-coated individual; His pointed golden tooth shining in the bright lights overhead. The white fluff on his jacket's hood was disheveled- clumps missing and areas tangled together like a bad hair day's worst nightmare. With a deep, angry scowl on his skull, he growled, "Will someone, _please_ , do something about that fly menace!"

"Oh, my stars! Red, are you okay?" Sci exclaimed, jumping out of his chair and rushing to the Underfell skeleton's side. The place where he then fussed over his (boy)friend's rough appearance.

Ink looked up from his drawing, a green question mark and yellow sun as his eyelights. "Huh, I thought Birdtale Sans couldn't make it today?"

Red scoffed and brushed away Sci's wandering hands, which were searching for injuries. "No, not him. _Death_. The bastard flew down and stole my sandwich like a demented seagull!" He stomped further into the room, shouting, "Not to mention, he has been terrorizing me all week! At my sentry post, at Grillby's, in my own goddamn house- He's fuckin' everywhere! _And. He. Keeps. Taking. My. Food._ "

Nearly the entire room had turned to face him at this point. Some with looks of pity and others with curious expressions. However, closest to him and Sci, a perpetually bleeding skeleton looked up from his book, indifference etched on his face. Sighing, he gently closed it and laid it on the empty space in front of him. Geno - the would-be seagull's keeper - huffed, stating, "He's probably worried you're going to make a move on me and is trying to scare you away."

A gasp echoed across the room, followed by a few Sanses _ooh_ -ing in interest. (Partially due to the fact nothing intriguing was happening in their AUs.) Ink's doodle sat abandoned as he turned his full attention on to the three- the star and heart twinkling in his eye sockets spelling trouble for them; likely several unwanted additions to his private art collection as well.

Sci, taken aback, demanded, "Why on earth would Red do that?!"

"Yeah, Boss proclaimed you're our new brother or whatever." The Underfell Sans raised an eyebrow whilst pulling his nerdy companion closer.

Geno merely chuckled, ominously. His good eyelight drifted over to Sci, who began to shift nervously under the gaze. "Heh. Kid, you are stuck in a room with both your past, present, and future. Guess who your closest future is?"

Once the color completely drained from their faces, a small smirk drew across the bloody glitch's jaws. Red and Sci gaped at him in horror. And, if they stumbled back just the slightest bit, no one would ever tell.

" _No_."

"Yeah."

With that odd exchange done, Geno reclaimed his book and opened it to the page he left off on, ignoring the numerous eyelights pointed in his direction. Slowly, the onlookers back to return to their previous task. A few, however, continued to shoot the three Sanses a glance. Before the room-wide conversation picked back up, a puff of black smoke sprung to life, twisting and turning behind the glitch before fading into the air. In its place stood a tall, black-cloaked figure with large black wings affixed to his back.

Red glared at the new skeleton and attempted to summon an attack but stopped when a deathly aura washed over his soul. From the depths of the dark article's hood, two dark eye sockets narrowed dangerously at him, which soon softened and returned to admiring a feisty, eternally bleeding mortal.

"Aw, Geno, are you having fun tormenting your past self? He looks absolutely mortified." Reaper crowed, leaning down and nuzzling his skull against Geno's.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Geno grumbled.

The death god quickly pulled away, a grin spreading across his face. “Good thing I brought you a sandwich.”

An item wrapped in brown paper with an "R" scratched on the side plipped out of his inventory and into his hands.

Red's eyes widened. “Wait, is that-“

Reaper cut him off with a bird-like shriek and ruffled the obsidian colored wings on his back, protectively pulling the (stolen) sandwich to his chest. The bread-y delight, though, was swiftly nabbed by a famished glitch; Book now abandoned on the table. A mildly offended pout replaced the god's protective rage. The offender ignored the look (and the menacing glare from Red) while he undid the wrapped.

“A sandwich will get you an hour of cuddling. And it starts now, so let's get this over with.” The bird-esque skeleton's offense melted into happiness as he yanked the other out of the chair, dragging him as close as possible before wrapping him in a strong embrace- Which caused Geno to scowl and attempt to raise his pinned arms (and sandwich) to his face.

“B-but you- The statistics… _How_?” Sci abruptly sputtered, eyelights flicking between Geno and his own hands.

“Just wait until you see my future- Got two nearby, and neither are prettier than the last.” Geno muttered, still struggling to get a bite of his stolen food. Merely pausing a second to spare a skeptical glance at Ink, who, to his credit, only had _one_ crayon crammed up his nasal cavity out of boredom. "Can't say their taste in partners is much better either."

“Don’t say that! I think all versions of you are amazing and beautiful- but not as beautiful as you.” Reaper squawked.

“Even Horror?”

“No, I thought we were talking Error, Fatal, and-“

“ _Shush_.” The bloody glitch hissed. “Nobody wants to hear about my insane, world-destroying alternates. I don't really want to be reminded of _them_ either.”

“Sci, you okay?”

“Is this what it feels like to be an oracle? To see every branching path and every subsequent outcome?” The skeleton in question asked, a distant look in his eye sockets as he gazed at the floor.

Red gentle laid a hand on the other's shoulder. “Maybe you should go home and get some rest…”

"All my futures suck!" The science-loving Sans shouted before gesturing toward his generic, blue-hoodied counterpart. “Just look at him!"

The lazy skeleton frowned and let out an indignant, " _Hey_."


	46. The Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red is concerned about Sci's wellbeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> I am so tired...

In the scorching reaches known as Hotland, a dark-coated skeleton slowly trekked down the rough stone paths, aiming for the white facility bridging the flaming lands to the next, New Home. The darkness that had fallen upon the area provided little hindrance. A warm yellow/orange glow sprouted up from the molten earth bubbling on each side of the narrow pathway. It shone bright enough to guide any monster- even those with the poorest night vision or treaded the Underground half-blind.

As he continued onward, the gentle light added to the peaceful atmosphere (unlike in his own universe where the glow burned red hot, like hellfire) and glinted off the faux gold tooth hidden amongst pointy ivory ones. Monsters passed by shrunk back, intimidated. Not that the few night-lurkers were in any danger. The skeleton merely ignored them in favor of adjusting his burgundy and black hoodie, debating removing it; though the light may have dropped, the temperature certainly had not.

Exhaustion prevented him from doing away with the article in the end. Good thing, too. The industrial metal door leading into the laboratory drew ever closer. Closing distance, a clawed hand began to fish through the hoodie's pocket for the spare key. His hand promptly withdrew a thin plastic card- a special ID or "key" that only its owner could use to gain entrance to the main labs. It displayed a series of encrypted information on the front and a barcode on the back, which got shown to the scanner located directly on the door's right side. The little lightbulb attached to the scanner turned green. While pulling the card back, pocketing it once more, the steely metal blocking the entryway slid away and opened up the hall leading to the facility's deepest bowels. 

Red sighed, dragging his feet along the ground and rubbing at his eye sockets as he trudged into the clean space; sneakers squeaking once rock switched to tile. His eyelights idly brushed over the dim fluorescent lights and plain white doors. The further he walked, the more the corridor seemed to continue on and on- too far for his inner laziness' liking. Luckily, he soon came to a halt in front of his destination: a familiar white door bearing scorch marks around the edges and frame. The Underfell skeleton grappled with his pocket before producing a small brass key. And if he happened to miss the keyhole a couple of times while attempting to insert it, no one would ever know. _Unless_ they checked the security footage. A tired (and mildly triumphant) grin spread across his jaws once the metal bit slipped into place. The lock clicked as it turned, allowing him to push open the door and enter the dwelling.

 _What a day_ , his mind grumbled. Crimson eyelights instantly drifted toward the green couch laying further in the room. He could almost imagine flopping down on the soft surface and enjoying every inch of its chemical-stained glory while resting his weary bones.

_If only._

Painstakingly, he tore his gaze away from the inviting napping spot and examined the remainder of the room. Darkness shrouded a majority of the space. All the overhead lights were off; only a sole lamp resting on the side table next to the couch illuminated the room with a dim yellow glow. Papers and gadgets and metal bits littered the nearby coffee table. A dark-screened laptop sat amongst the mess, along with an empty mug. The metal bookcases, containing a plethora of different science books, sat relatively untouched compared to when he last saw them. Where the living room separated into the kitchen, the coffee pot sitting on the steel counter held not a drop of the hot caffeinated substance. The combat-experienced monster found these details odd for many reasons. The main one pertaining to the fact the dwelling's other resident was almost always awake. Even after three days without a wink of sleep.

Eyelights floating behind narrowed eye sockets flitted to the corner hall connecting the living room/kitchen to the rest of the housing unit- i.e., the bedroom, bathroom, and personal lab spaces. Every lab door seemed locked tight without a sliver of light peaking through the bottom.

"Sci, ya home?" Red called quietly, in case the sleep-deprived scientist decided to sleep for once in his miserable existence.

Crippling silence replied; However, just as he was about to shrug it off and check the bedroom, an unexpected sound echoed from further in the house. " _AH-HAHAHAHAHAHAH!_ " 

The love-ridden skeleton would never admit it, but he started at the noise, jumping almost two feet in the air before thoughts ran rampant in his mind. One such thought being: _Who the heck made that racket?_ Sci had an evil laugh, sure, and he had practiced it on numerous occasions much to Red's dismay. That laugh, though... 

The unhinged laughter reminded him of one monster and one monster alone- _Error!_

That realization had him instantly bolting down the hall, using a hand to help turn the corner and the force of his momentum to bust down the sole door with light shining from beneath it. A sharp bone materialized in his dominant hand as the metal barrier went flying off its hinges, crashing to the floor. Eyelights flaring, he bellowed, _"_ You have a lot of nerve breaking into this lab! Now, what did you do to Sci! _"_

A pleading cry prevented him from jabbing the attack into the destructive intruder. "Red, stop! It's me!"

The Underfell skeleton blinked, taking in the appearance of his target for the first time- non-discolored bones, white eyelights, green-framed glasses resting on the tip of his nasal cavity, a towel wrapped lightly around his smaller frame. A pinkish hue spread on Red skull as he realized that he was, in fact, not look at Error but a very underclothed and startled scientist. In the bathroom.

"Wh- Sci?! What on earth were you- I thought _Error_ was in here!" He stuttered, directing his sight to anywhere other than the skeleton before him.

Quickly recovering from the scare, Sci puffed up and shouted, "Why would he be in _my bathroom_?!"

"I- I don't know! For evil stuff?" Red unsummoned his weapon and threw his hands up in a sign of peace. That did not stop the towel-clad monster from shooting him a nasty glare, likely due to the door that now needed replacing. 

"Evil-" Sci squeaked as the towel slipped from his hands, revealing his ribcage, and swiftly pulled it back up. With bright green magic spread across his cheeks, he sputtered, "C-could you leave? I need to get dressed. We can, uh, continue this conversation afterward."

The Underfell skeleton slowly backed out of the room; His skull colored by an equally bright red flush while he continued backward until his spine hit the opposite wall, where he slowly sunk to the ground. The fallen door soon found itself lifted with red magic and carefully used to block the doorway (and the view inside the room). After making sure it would not fall, Red blankly stared at the tile floor. 

_When did his evil laugh get so creepy? Near authentic, too.  
_

A hand came up and slowly dragged down the length of his skull, only briefly stopping to rub at his droopy eye sockets.

_Stars, it is too late for this- I should warn the Council in the next meeting, so no one accidentally attacks that nerd one day._


	47. Beach Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geno attempts to take his husband and son to the beach.

A sandy expanse overtook the land, broken by clear waters that stretched far beyond the horizon. Unforgiving rays of sunlight bore down from above, whispering threats of sunburn and melted ice cream, but the way it cascaded into the vast blue and caused it to shimmer almost made the heat worth suffering through. _Almost_. Many humans and monsters seemed to share a similar sentiment, as various shaped/sized figures dotted the seaside. Some relaxed on colorful towels under pitched umbrellas with a stocked cooler nearby. Others ran around, carefree, in swimsuits and sunscreen armor.

Geno grinned atop a tan, grainy knoll. His usual garb was gone. In its stead, he wore an eerily identical pair of shorts, a white tank top, sunglasses, and the red scarf - which he treasured so dearly - found a place wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Isn't today the perfect day to get away from home and relax outside?" The glitch asked, sparing a glance back towards his two companions.

Reaper approached slowly from behind while Goth trailed beside him. The elder death god sported a strained smile as he trudged across the sand, black cloak skirting along the ground with every step. The day's scalding heat combined with his heavy cloak no doubt created much discomfort. And sweat. Despite various warnings, Reaper insisted on wearing the signature article instead of something more practical; now he was paying the price. Geno felt the raising need to utter, " _I told you so,_ " but managed to contain it. 

Shaded eyelights drifted to the younger death god. Unlike a certain sweaty fool, Goth ditched his standard garb once he got reminded that he could wear something cute and show pictures to his "friend" later. The new outfit differed little from Geno's- a simple white tank top and shorts with the addition of a floppy, pale yellow sunhat adorned by a few fake flowers. Another exception being that Goth left his scarf in the car rather than wearing it.

Not a bad idea. Though, Geno's determination to keep the item close outweighed his need to lose any added heat.

He fully turned to face the two when they came to a halt. Goth beamed at the sight of the ocean and sneakily (quite noticeably) used his phone to take a picture. The glitch-laden skeleton had a sneaking suspicion about who just received said photo in a text based on how his son's smile brightened further. A black-cloaked god, on the other hand, did not notice the same. His empty eye sockets aimed toward the coast, a hint of trepidation hidden within their depths, before sliding to a group of seagulls surrounding an empty burger wrapper and then to Geno, which make his grin slightly more genuine.

"Yeah, and I can't wait to spend it with my two favorite-" The God of Death started, eyes trailing off to over Geno's right shoulder, where he saw something that caused him to pause and abruptly chime, " _Sandwich_."

Reaper darted forward in a flash, giving Geno barely any time to snatch a fistful of his cloak's hood.

He yanked the other back with a disapproving scowl. “ _Reaper_ ,” The glitch chided, shooting a quick apologetic look at the startled, sandwich-carrying human. Not that it helped. The blonde man glared at their group warily as he cautiously continued on his way. “ _no_. We are not doing this again! Remember what happened last time.”

"N-"

“They have fries, too!” Goth chirped from behind, diving past his parents to point at the crisp potato slices in the person's other hand. His fluffy, white wings fluttered with excitement all the while.

"What?" Reaper's skull instant whipped around, his dark eye sockets boring into the food's packaging.

Geno released the death god and sighed. “Goth, sweetie, you are better than this. Do not stoop to your father’s level.”

“But the fries- They have a pretty, shiny wrapper around them. _I want it_.”

The preceding pout was a force to be reckoned with. Enough so to induce a certain - or a small, very small - level of relenting. “I... I can buy you some fries with a shiny wrapper. You don’t need to steal them from a random stranger.”

“Dad says that stealing them feels far more rewarding.”

While pinching the bridge above his nasal cavity, the glitchy skeleton muttered, “ _Of course_. The one time he is willing to put effort into something other than his job.”

Suddenly, a terrifying scream echoed across the sands. “AHHH! Demon seagull!”

A dog monster stood on the opposite side of the beach had a single finger pointed to the air and an unadulterated look of horror. Geno's eyelights instantly snapped over to the direction. A large, dark-winged figure hovered in the air, a torn sandwich in their greedy talons and a feral grin set on their jaws. The prize soon vanished into the shadowy depths of their hood before they set out to obtain more. People all over the beach screamed and scattered as the bird-beast dove down and began ravaging abandoned coolers.

Geno paled. “Goth.”

The other did not respond, merely looking longingly at a discarded set of fries.

“Goth, come on. We need to go. _Now!_ ” He added more frantically. The young skeleton turned toward him, conflicted.

“ _Ssssscccrraw!_ ” The ravenous creature shrieked from the shore, using its taloned hands to rip off a cooler lid. Consequently, causing more people to scatter and others to frantically a dial number on their phone. It did not take long before a siren sounded in the distance.

“But shiny fries-“ Goth shot a mournful glance at the foil-wrapped food.

“We’ll get some on the way home!” Geno cried, swiftly grabbing ahold of his son's arm and dragging him toward the car.


	48. Wayward Guidance (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink is not a good mystical guide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funnily enough, I meant for this to be a short story, then, before I knew it, the plot started running away, and it had to be caught.
> 
> ...I haven't caught it yet.

Legends foretold of a weapon. A blade crafted from the purest sunstones capable of bending light to the user's whim and banishing darkness to the deepest corners of oblivion. Few people were qualified to touch - let alone gaze upon - the legendary sword, as it was once said to have been wielded by Dream, the God of Light himself. Only a being as pure and righteous as he could hold it. The blade which many called The Sword of Light. One would expect such a revered artifact to be highly guarded, sealed away in a castle's treasury, or cast in stone until a worthy hero arises. Alas, that wasn't quite the case. The very same legends etched into cavern walls and recited by books of yellowed paper told of a different fate. A grand journey.

Beyond the reaches of civilization in wilds untamed, past lush mountains and treacherous terrain, there laid a hollow- a cavernous mouth stretching across the earth, ready to devour those who wander inside. Those searching for a great prize: _The Sword of Light_. The road to it, however, was not easy. Twisting tunnels and complex puzzles lined the pathway, rumored to have been set by the God of Japes to test a hero's strengths. Accompanying the tricks and traps were beasts. Monsters with faces and shapes unlike any had seen. Their sheer strength unfathomable, prowess in combat like that of a well-seasoned warrior. A common thief's worst nightmare. Yet that alone did not make reaching the innermost sanctuary unreachable. To advance further than the first ten levels, one needed a chosen guide (guardian spirit) to lead them through lest they lose their way, becoming another stray soul amongst the madness. 

And, as luck would have it, fate smiled down upon the figure trudging through the dungeon floors. He, much like the many heroes before him, was a monster. A skeleton monster- sturdy, features slightly rounded, and tall (-er than the average height of 4'5"). The standard white colored his bones in contrast to the uncommon black/grey or rare hue some had, and the eerie dots serving as his pupils shone the same shade. Though, his right eyelight was known to shift to red depending on his mood. Another key feature that set him apart from those similar to himself was the long, jagged crimson scar that rested just below his right eye socket. 

A relatively close call from a past mistake; Any closer and that eye would have been rendered useless. 

Physical appearance aside, the mysterious hero's attire spoke more than a thousand words about his character and skill. Heavy, white/black-dyed leather made up a majority of his armor while snowy tufts peaked out from the collar and sleeves. The fur-lining grew thickest around the neck/shoulders, puffing out to create a fuzzy hood. Neither his chest piece, greaves, nor boots were horribly complex or intricate in any way. They had the bare minimum of style, and the only mildly elaborate thing about them happened to be a series of leather straps; Two of which ran across each side of his chest in a bandolier-esque fashion and met in the back, where his great sword's sheath laid. All neatly clasped together by a golden buckle adorned with a silver dragon skull. In addition, each armor piece bore variously sized and lengthed cuts/patches. However, despite its evident use, the leather was well kept- oiled every month with the best oil money could buy to prevent the articles from drying out and weakening.

Unfortunately, the beasts dwelling in the tunnels' depths delivered quite the beating to both him and his precious apparel. He knew without looking that a simple trip to the nearest armorer would prove meaningless. The damaged bits (his torn, bitten bracers and shoulder guards) needed to be entirely replaced, but they retained enough life to hold up until the journey reached its end.

His confidence to keep up with said armaments was waning. _Greatly_.

Heaving ragged breaths, he pushed onward in his sweat-laden armor and let his aching feet carry him down a dirt tunnel. Glowing fungi and flora lit the way. Some took the form of long spindling vines and small lily-like flowers, and others resembled giant mushrooms with thin stalks and puffy, frilled tops. Each unique plant emitted a gentle blue/light purple glow, revealing the monsterless space ahead, a sight which caused the exhausted skeleton to breathe a sigh of relief.

The trek continued smoothly, even when the tunnel walls, ceiling, and floor expanded into a large cavernous room. A musty, damp odor assaulted the air upon the first step inside. Strikingly different compared to the deep earthy (and, at times, dusty) scent prevalent throughout the other dungeon areas. Wet plips echoed off wall after wall as water droplets trickled from the stalactites above and splashed into shallow puddles. Overgrown plant life flourished along every surface they stretched across, consuming a majority of the space and providing ample hiding places for anything _unsavory_ ; ferocious, clawed creatures or deadly traps. 

The room felt oddly still, regardless- no faint hum of magic in the air, no nigh inaudible thump of heartbeats around to hear. Suspicious, to say the least.

He paused, scanning the area for more tricks, traps, or monsters when an obnoxiously loud sneeze sounded to his left.

 _Right_ , the warrior thought, _that idiot is still there_. _Doing nothing helpful._

_Hmm, guess I shouldn't be too upset. He did stop talking and "inadvertently" attracting beasts our way._

"Eugh. I am starting to remember why I hate coming here." The other spoke in a piercing voice, not quite shouting but more than loud enough to attract unwanted attention, then added, "So dusty. Good thing it's not monster dust! That would be gross- Wait, is it monster dust? I can't remember."

_And there goes the quiet streak._

Keeping his ever-growing frustration from showing provided a challenge he had not faced in years- a challenge of patience and understanding; one he happened to be failing. Eye socket twitching, the fatigued hero settled for shooting his oblivious companion a discreet glare.

The short, slightly transparent skeleton bearing dark splotches on his right cheek hovered beside him, a wide - almost amused - grin stretched along his jaws. The eyelights dwelling within his eyes sockets changed shape and color with every blink. Around him fluttered a silken, yakata-styled robe that stopped shortly before his bare feet. The robe itself was far more complex than the warrior's own attire, being colored a plain tan and accented by a myriad of shades- blue, pink, yellow, green, orange, and purple. Plus, black from splatters obtained via the skeleton's personal hobbies. Hobbies that did not involve combat since not a cut nor scrape blemished his ethereal form.

As his appearance suggested, he was no ordinary skeleton monster but, in fact, a guide or guardian spirit. And far from a minor one as well. Morals called him Ink, the Arch Guardian Spirit of Art.

"Ooh, Crossy, look! We're almost there!" Ink cried. The guardian spirit's arm extended outward with a single phalange aimed in the air, pointing at a neglected entrance located higher on a cavern wall.

Crossy, or more accurately Cross, narrowed his eye sockets and looked up. Brown earth seamlessly merged with the crumbling, light grey bricks lining the opening. Hints of faded rune writings and paper talismans surrounded it. His translation skills may not be perfect, but some of the stone etchings were legible enough for him to puzzle together their meaning. They served to disorient travelers and hide the path from what he could tell. An extra (wholly unnecessary, in his opinion) level of protection to further prove a hero's might. Lucky for him, the magic they once held withered years ago.

Furthermore, the evidence of high security was promising, and, at the very least, implied this entrance could lead to the legendary sword. Unlike the last thirteen entryways that Ink insisted were the correct one.

Containing a sigh, he thought, _Fourteenth time's the charm._

Cross pushed forward. And, possibly, struggled to ignore the being who suddenly decided that humming an upbeat tune would be appropriate.

He examined the broken ancient ruins primarily to locate a path to his destination with music (quite literally) in his nonexistent ears. All the while, keeping an eye out for surprise pitfalls or beasts; Any danger Ink would undoubtedly fail to warn him about. For example, those five spike traps the other almost let him fall in when they were barely two minutes past the dungeon's main entrance. The warrior swore the repeated scares nearly took ten years off his life. Maybe a fraction of HP, too.

White eyelights - one bearing the tiniest hint of pinkish-red - gazed over stone chunks and scattered bricks as the wall neared. Logic said they once constructed the stairs leading to the entrance conveniently ten feet up the bumpy surface. Time and negligence reduced what little remained to no more than a craggy surface, seemingly breaking apart while the world showed tranquility around it- A far cry from its former beauty. Especially considering the fixture hardly resembled a set of stairs. Too many uneven ledges and narrowed steps. No one with one-eighth of a brain cell would attempt to tread them in the intended manner. Climbing upward was the best choice.

The skeletal hero nearly halted in his tracks. He desperately searched over and over and over for another option. Alas, his fate sealed the moment he reached the wall's base. The sole way forth could only be attained through grit, determination, and pure upper body strength.

Ink floated closer beside him, mirth wrote across his features. Bright smile, amused crinkles by his eye sockets, cheery colors/shapes for eyelights, and et cetera- An overall irritating amount of happiness. He, thankfully, ending his nonsensical tune and glance toward the opening.

"Pfft- Are you really going to climb that? Looks hard." Cross silently agreed with the spirit's last statement. It looked challenging. Both for him _and_ his aching bones.

Typically such a laborious task fell to magic. However, the warrior's mana reserves contained hardly a drop thanks to his "brilliant" companion. Escaping all the demonic hordes, being led on wild goose chases, and fighting all the nasty beasts Ink brought his way took a lot out of him.

Gulping, Cross reached out and gripped a sturdy-looking rock before doing the same with his other hand and then perching his feet on a good foothold. He repeated the actions multiple times until he scaled one-fourth of the wall. His bones screamed despite the meager achievement, begging him to stop, to abandon his quest and return home to a soft, comfortable bed. Unfortunately for the strained appendages, their owner carried a determined soul- a soul that did not give up without a fight and knew not the meaning of quit. So they reluctantly allowed themselves to be spurred onward. 

Laughter rumbled next to him a little past that milestone. The guardian spirit responsible hovered several inches higher than him, wearing that annoying bemused expression he'd worn frequently since they first met. He grinned down at Cross, chuckling, "Heh-he! I am glad I can fly at times like this."

The panting skeleton watched as Ink effortlessly flew to the top, landing flawlessly on the ledge of the opening.

_Show off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate summary: Ink needs to stop losing legendary heroes.


	49. Double or Nothing (1.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes that didn't make the cut for "Prepare For Trouble; Make It Double." Could also be considered bonus chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: Got a new computer to replace my broken one, so I'll be able to post more often!

In Stardin Forest's outer reaches, the sheer stillness permeating the land felt deafening, and the shadows all too consuming- Not even the gentle rustle of the trees could break it, nor the dying light of stars long since passed. All breaths seemingly halted as two figures froze, safely hidden amongst the shades. Their wide eye sockets pointed toward the sole monster standing on the isle's edge, who went about his business (stargazing and periodically tapping on an invisible screen) without realizing his most sacred secret was now known by one too many. Jaws agape, the pair silently watched as Geno (Error) began to move and open a portal to a pitch-black space before disappearing inside.

Neither twitched a single muscle when the last inch of his signature red scarf vanished, and the portal slid closed; Chasing after the skeleton was but an afterthought. Shock remained prevalent in their souls, preventing them from doing much else aside from gape at the once occupied spot. Regardless of any time passed. However, when it finally cleared enough for them to break out of their stupor, each came upon a grim realization: Hidden beneath the thick, shadowy canopy was another soul. And in that instant...

The two rivals locked eyes in the darkness.

Twilight encompassed the sky- a plethora of hues (purple, orange, yellow, red, and pink) coloring the wispy clouds along the horizon as tiny stars began to twinkle in the openings. An orange-ish/yellow blur peaked over the edge, slowly descending. Meanwhile, its pearly counterpart strengthened its light, preparing to take watch over the sky and illuminate the dark. Its brilliant glow fought and fought only to be drowned out by the growing darkness spread from mountainous terrain while fading sunlight blazed behind. Streetlights flicked on to brighten the sidewalk and cast shades of their own across the concrete below as shadows fell upon the nearby city, a quaint little place that bordered the coast and crept up into the mountains. Few people roamed the street. A majority of which were monsters. Various nocturnal types that bore a strong resemblance to raccoons, opossums, owls, bats (and, oddly enough, puddles of water), not to be confused with the more common kinds seen wandering around during the day. These monsters, along with the occasional human, traversed the city and used the many benches to their advantage. Some either waiting for the bus or taking solace in the night before starting their journey home, or resting their feet after a hard day's work.

A creature scoffed, sneering at the content beings and their naive joy. His shadowy, black form hid seamlessly amongst the shades cast on the rooftops. The eight tendrils sprouting from his back coiled close behind, stiff and unmoving; On occasions, one would give a light twitch as if wanting to lash out at something. _Anything_. Alas, the roof was barren. No nocturnal animals to frighten. No stray litter to crush. No roof decorations to unleash his fury on to. He forced the urge down and peered over the edge to the quiet streets, eye glued on a particular figure meandering through the city's shopping center.

Of course, this creeper was no ordinary onlooker. If not evident by his stalker-esque ways.

Some called him a god, and others spat his name in the way one might curse a demon, yet both factions agreed on one thing: He brought terror to all. Despite the bravery few fools pretended to have. His skeletal, corruption-laden appearance was something that no one desired to see, especially in their dreams. He gained quite a reputation for himself throughout the ages- The dreaded King of Darkness, Positivity's Bane, Ruler of Oblivion's deepest stretches, and, his favorite title, the Father of All Terror. Only an ill-informed, rock-dwelling fool would fail to know his name, which many recognized as the mighty and fear-inducing moniker: _Nightmare_.

The sludge-coated guardian slunk through the shadows, using his cyan eyelight to track the subject of his interest. Beneath his gaze, a red-scarfed skeleton adorned by a white lab coat, black shorts, and fluffy pink slippers strode across the concrete with an unhurried gait. Soon a worn set of red-rimmed glasses joined the ensemble, likely due to the other's inability to see clearly. Nightmare's eye sockets narrowed at the sight of the familiar article. On various occasions, Error had brought out the old accessory when he needed a better look at his knitting project or wanted to shame the boys from creating (crafting, cooking, or otherwise) something horrendous. _Thoroughly_. With those spectacles perched on his nasal cavity, nothing escaped his eyes.

Cautiously, Nightmare allowed his target to put some space between them before continuing his pursuit. The last thing he needed was to get spotted by Genocide _._ Or, who he had believed to be the plucky Aftertale Sans. Given Error's sudden transformation into the other, it was hard to believe this bloody, only mildly threatening monster was the friend he cherished dearly. Hence, why the oblivious skeleton obtained a narrow-eyed follower.

The Guardian of Negativity needed to see it for himself. All the lies Error - Geno, whoever he was - fed him, so he could bury the love he felt once and for all.

A low hiss escaped Nightmare's jaws; Lightly frowning, a goo-coated hand came up to rub the center of his chest above the corrupted heart trapped within. Regret was an agonizing little thing. An emotion that seared the depths of his soul and tormented his mind. Out of every choice he had made, he regretted going to that damned AU most of all because every time he thought about it, his heart ached all over again. For a good reason too. Nightmare originally went to the starry universe to see his friend, whom he had been admiring for the past millennia. (Though, if one trustworthy enough asked his followers, they would say he was pining worse than an evergreen.) A small, blue-wrapped box with a black bow/ribbon had sat in his inventory - there it still resided - and contained within was a special gift he planned on using to take their relationship to the next level.

Now, the guardian did not know if he could take that step. Ever. For many reasons, like: _How?_ How had Error managed to keep this secret for so long? Nightmare thought he gained the other's trust and proved himself worthy enough to stand side-by-side with the Destroyer of Worlds. Yet, it would seem that wasn't the case. Error still kept some secrets- which the Guardian of Negativity could not fault him for doing. Everyone was allowed to have specific aspects of their life private from others. Assuming those secrets were non-harmful to anything or anyone. Another reason: _Reaper_. The deadly skeleton had hidden amongst the same shadowy trees Nightmare used to conceal his form- The trees shrouding _his_ and _Error's_ special stargazing spot; considering the god's presence there, it wasn't as special as he was led to believe.


	50. Switching Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After positivity and negativity are caught in a stalemate, Nightmare decides to use some new tactics to best his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I hope everyone has a fantastic day!

Nightmare growled as he fruitlessly clashed with his brother. Tendrils struck out, thrashing furiously, only to be expertly blocked by a well-maneuvered staff, then said staff whirled around to strike him while his appendages retreated. Sidestepping, he evaded the weapon before it could make contact. 

Soon their awkward little dance repeated. Step-by-step.

The dark guardian glanced over to his followers to see if they fared any better, and more than a little disappointment washed over him at the sight. Blue and Horror repeatedly locked weapons - war hammer vs. axe - in an odd contest to defeat the other through brute force. Both seemed trapped in their own world as they violently smashed the poor instruments of death together, not causing each other to budge in the slightest. Ink held off Killer and Cross on the opposite side of the battlefield. His absurdly large paintbrush matched the duo's combined power.

The forces of good and evil were at a stalemate; Neither gaining ground nor any upper hand.

Nightmare grit his teeth, dodging another swipe from his brother's predictable attack pattern. At the current rate, their skirmish may last for a millennia before either side grew weary or yielded- because winning seemed to be off the table given their predicament. They had been warring for eons. Dream understood Nightmare's attack formations, strategies, and tactics almost as well as the dark skeleton knew the guardian's own. That in mind, no side had a clear path to victory. Not with their current methods.

_Drastic times call for drastic measures.  
_

Leaping back, he drew his tendrils away from the golden-clad protector, which added an element of surprise to the battlefield. 

Something his opponent did not - and would not - expect in the slightest, considering the way his brows crinkled and a tiny frown formed along his jaws. "Brother, what are you-"

Nightmare looked the Guardian of Positivity straight in the eye sockets, stating in a higher pitch than usual mixed with a mocking tone, "Oh look, I'm Dream, and I like making everyone happy!" He proceeded to stick his tongue out before running around the other while chanting, "Golden goose! Golden goose! Golden goose!"

Confusion flashed across Dream's face for a second; then, a childish pout quickly overtook it. 

"Nightmare, stop!" The youngest twin cried. A bright yellow flush slowly began creeping up his skull. His shout proved useless against the Guardian of Negativity and only served to gain a fraction of his fellow protectors' attention. 

"Stop it!" He whined, stamping a foot on the ground when Nightmare failed to comply with his demand.

Ink and Blue's eyelights fully snapped in his direction. Twin looks of bafflement sat on their faces at the sight of the dark lord's immature antics. Antics that included more than a few mocking remarks, derogatory/obnoxious chants, taunting dances- pretty much anything that would get on Dream's nerves. The pair were so immersed by the display they completely disregard their opponents in favor of watching the show. 

Cross used the distraction to his advantage and swiftly swept Ink's legs out from under him, causing the artist to fall into the snow whilst dropping his weapon. Killer followed up by delivering a hash kick to his stomach area. A pained groan sounded as Ink curled in on himself, inadvertently admitting defeat. Meanwhile, Horror swung the blunt end of his axe into Blue's side and sent him sprawling in the snow alongside the AUs' protector.

Nightmare halted his new tactic and smirked as Dream glanced around, slowly realizing his teammates got taken out. "It would seem that you have lost this round, brother."

"Th- that's only because you cheated!" The yellow-flushed skeleton sputtered. "It wasn't even a fair fight!"

A menacing chuckle echoed across their battlefield when the Guardian of Negativity sprung a black portal into existence, gesturing for his followers to pass through. "Til next time." Before stepping in the portal himself, he paused. "Golden goose."

"I am not a goose!"


	51. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The multiverse is trapped in dark times, which are even darker for a simple skeleton trying to escape the crumbling realms, ashes, and demons biting at his heels. 
> 
> ( **Warning** : The Darkness, _which includes mentions of torture, injuries, blood, and swearing. Proceed at your own risk._ )

The world was still; Seemingly frozen in time. Planets ceased rotation. Shooting stars, comets, and meteors sat amongst the stars, suspended. Not a single human or monster stirred from their position on the floating expanse. Buildings usually lit with a warm, welcoming glow had grown cold. Each and every window, open doorway, and lamppost was dark- Almost as if light never illuminated them. Neither flame nor magic flickered. Blackness threatened to overtake the brightest of light. It even reached far into the beyond. The all-consuming force shrouded the sky, hiding the nearby stars and galaxies like a dastardly omen. An omen that said: _All heed my warning- Fear not who you don't understand; Fear those with the darkest of SOUL, for they will_ _devour_ _all._ Alas, such words fell upon deaf ears. Nothing - not even Nature's mightiest forces - could deter the judgmental from the path they had chosen.

Between the small town and the Ruins (The civilization's oldest place of residence, and historical puzzle labyrinth.), there laid a craggy pathway that led into a deep, shadowy forest. Few traveled there. It was too dangerous, as the floating land broke into many pieces that bobbed and drifted about the amaranthine space. Furthermore, the sparkling stardust coating the ground like snow made it increasingly difficult to navigate. It often reflected starlight into the eyes of brave travelers. Sometimes, poor souls would be blinded and make an unfortunate misstep, reuniting them with the Void below. The oblivion-esque realm was inescapable. Once ensnared within, a being was ripped apart and scattered across space/time. A kismet none wished upon their worst enemy.

_Wkdw zdv- Xqohvv wkh zlvkhu ri plviruwxqhv zdv VRXOohvv._

Like the town, silence enveloped the mystic woodlands. Its' normally brilliant, shimmering trees dimmed to the point they no longer produced light. And the eeriness only increased. Nature's wonders - bugs, birds, and animals of all types - were nowhere to be seen, leaving the entirety of the land ominously empty. However, it was not entirely void of life. Or sound. (Though, why would one expect sound waves to traverse the vast void of space? A seemingly impossible feat, yet, many a noise once played throughout the land. Perhaps due to magic. Or, perhaps another force was responsible for this strange phenomenon.) A monster dwelled further down the dangerous road, leaving echoes of hurried footsteps in his wake. Stardust lifted and swirled every time a foot left or landed on the ground. Unnatural darkness enveloped him. Key features needed to determine his monster-species or character were hidden. For good reasons, too.

A burnt, ripped hoodie concealed his figure; The equally damaged hood of which pulled over his head, preventing others from putting a face to his name. Or a name to his face. Many different colors could have been the shade of the article, but the abysmal lighting made it impossible to ascertain. The only concrete clue was the way it seamlessly blended with the shadows, exposing its dark nature. Possibly a deep midnight blue, magnificent royal purple, worn blood red, or foreboding jet black. Even then, though, numerous other colors could easily stand in their place. A pair of dark shorts with a light stripe running down each side revealed a hint to the mysterious monster's identity. Below the hem of pant legs, a distinct set of limbs could be recognized- If one looked close enough, they would see the lower half of a femur followed by a patella, tibia, and fibula. Yes, these limbs were constructed purely out of bone. Meaning the monster currently fleeing for his life was a _skeleton_. Despite the visible bone, it was difficult to distinguish which shade colored it; The force robbing the universe of its light made it nay impossible to differentiate black from white. And vice versa. The skeleton's shoes, much like his hoodie, were undefined in color and torn, coming apart at the soles. Design-wise, the footwear couldn't be anything other than slippers.

Dashing through the rough terrain, he hopped from island to island, avoiding the steep cracks and perilous ledges. Weaving in between the trees and rocky protrusions with ease; Each swift movement and confident step expressed the skeleton's sheer familiarity with the area. Whether a resident of the dying world or frequent visitor- He knew the lands like the back of his bony hand. From the farthest reaches to the tiniest niches. In spite of his expertise and skillful movements, the enigmatic skeleton was less than in peak condition. Wounds - both new and old - ached. Cuts and burns littered his bones. The most recent ones bled deep red magic, akin to how humans bled blood. Droplets of the morbid magic splattered on the earth, creating a clear trail to the injured monster. Each breath breathed held a labored wheeze, and every step taken had the slightest wobble.

Unfortunately, more than that weakened him. The damages ran far deeper than what was seen on the surface. Cracks and fissures spread across his clothed bones. Some sustained fractures beyond repair; Others permanently lost. Several ribs had long since fallen off, a few phalanges were gone (having been violently torn from his body), and his left eye socket received extensive damage. It was unlikely that he would ever see out of it again. And, possibly the worst of all, magic runes were etched into the skeleton's bones. The accursed symbols ached and burned, preventing the usage of magic- healing auras or attacks. When attempting to summon any level of magical power, a sharp pain assaulted his very SOUL. It was agonizing, like a thousand needles puncturing the magic organ and wiggling around.

That, however, did not deter him from trying. If anything, it caused the stubborn skeleton to try more. What did he have to lose at this point, anyway? Nothing. Nothing aside from his life.

So, why? Why did he continue to run? Wouldn't it be smarter to find a safe place to rest and recover the hard way? No. The forest may be devoid of native life, but undesirable monsters lurked in the distance- A group whose footsteps roared like thunder in the silent woods. The hunters were ruthless, _unrelenting_ ; Getting a hold of the fleeing skeleton was their ultimate goal. The fact said skeleton wore a face identical to theirs' meant nothing. It changed nothing. When finally recaptured, the escapee would endure pains worse than death itself before shuffling off this mortal coil. For these monsters knew not the meaning of mercy.

 _Where? Where did it all go wrong_ , he wondered. No combination of words could answer his inquiry; No answer could be logically affirmed. Merely question after question spawned by recounting everything that led up to this point.

The distant treading soon grew louder. Twigs and branches snapped under feet, earth scrapped beneath heels, and potent magic hissed in the air. Merciless pursuers, fully prepared for a fight with one of the Multiverse's strongest skeletons, would descend upon the injured monster at any moment. Bones shot out of the ground, attempting to block his path; Lasers from Gaster Blasters flew past his head. One blast narrowly missed the hood of his hoodie. The skeleton dared not to turn around, fearing the blazing eyelights that would meet his own shrunken one. _Fucking- Damn it! I can't outrun them forever_ , he thought grimly. _There has to be a way. I have to lose them. But how?!_

"Get back here!" A voice bellowed with rage.

The timbre sent shivers down the skeleton's spine, causing him to involuntarily rattle in terror- Consequently making too much noise for his liking. Too much pain as well. Every bone ached as the swift, repetitive movement jostled them. The monster attempted to recompose himself, quell his fear, but it seemed to be a futile task. He was afraid. So very afraid. And the source of that overwhelming horror was slowly closing in on him. How could he ignore _that_? Especially after all the terrors and pain he was forced to endure. Bolting at fear-fueled speeds, the skeleton persevered through his wounds' pain and weaved across the tree ridden landscape. The thundering steps of his pursuers rumbled behind. An attack or two would whizz by, occasionally. Most aiming to cripple a leg or knock him out; Others went straight for the kill, likely due to certain monsters growing tired of this game of chase. Little did they know, it would shortly come to an end- An end of which there was no true winner.

The vast forest gave away, revealing a sole cliff overlooking the oppressive darkness of the Void and the shrouded space above. If the sky hadn't been so dark and twisted, it would be the perfect place to sit and stargaze. The skeleton, realizing where he was, came to a screeching halt. A sharp pain shot through his bones because of the sudden deceleration; Causing him to stumble closer to the cliff's edge. His breath hitched as he looked at the death sentence from his precarious vantage point. Small pebbles tumbled into the deadly blackness. Never to be seen again.

 _Fuck_. _What now?_

There was nowhere else to run - endless space surrounded him on both sides, and given the ferocity of his hunters, it was far too late to backtrack and escape the dead end. The strained SOUL in his chest pulsed harder at the realization. Its' steadily increasing _thump-thump_ roared in his nonexistent ears. But not louder than the hunters' deafening gait. _What do I do? What_ can _I do_ , the skeleton thought in panic. He frantically surveyed the area with his one good eyelight, trying to find a way out. Some kind of escape. _Anything_.

His gaze fell to the expanse below; An idea formed. It was risky, but as previously mentioned, what more did he have to lose? Besides, anything seemed better when compared to inevitable pain and torture. He steadied his shaking bones and breathed rhythmically. Magic slowly gathered in his SOUL, causing a nearly unbearable agony all the while. Pins and needles assaulted the core. The magic runes carved into his bones scorched like a miniature sun. Magic blood flowed freely from wounds and runes. Nevertheless, the skeleton clenched his teeth and continued channeling the supernatural force. Footfall rumbled against the ground, growing closer by the second. _Now or never!_

He jumped. Jumped into the abyssal expanse below, and prayed. _Anywhere but here. I don't care if it's Fallentale, Horrortale, Underfell, Penancetale, Underhell, or - heh - even_ Aftertale _would be preferable right now. Just... anywhere other than_ this _hell._

Using the built-up magic, the skeleton teleported to a place untouched by his hunters and concealed from them.


	52. Your Worst Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare finally discovers Blue's worst nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year's Eve!
> 
> With this addition to the "Collection of Oddities," there are officially fifty chapters! 
> 
> _(Well, forty-nine plus the "1k" chapter-note thing- but we don't talk about that here.)_

Nightmare tiredly sat in a plush office chair, staring blankly at the massive paper stacks littered across his dark oak desk's flat surface; Slightly beside the clutter laid a small - almost minuscule - set of signed and sorted documents. Despite having attempted to dwindle the workload over the past two hours. Much to the guardian's dismay, as the breathtaking dusk sky he intended to enjoy with a hot cup of tea had long since bled into a black, moonless night.

A worn, ink-tipped quill twirled in his fingers while he contemplated chucking the heaping mess into the nearest well-lit fireplace. Very violently. Maybe inviting the boys to join him, too, since they could use some "family" bonding time.

The image of the murderous trio chanting and sacrificing papers to the flames fled his mind when a jolt of power struck his soul.

"Heh, it seems someone is having quite the nightmare tonight." Nightmare muttered to himself. The feather in his hand stilled and found itself placed next to a porcelain inkwell. Meanwhile, his other hand came to rest on the desk's edge, fingers softly tapping. "But, _who_?"

He allowed his uncovered eye to slip closed and concentrated on the negative feeling. His mind's eye trailed the river-like flow of negativity from its destination to its beginning, and once he got a hold of the being he sought, the eye socket snapped wide open in shock.

_Blue?_ A malicious grin soon crept along his jaws. _What a golden opportunity!_

Ink and his brother were a problem, sure- but Blue, sweet and childish little Blue, had no fears or weaknesses on record. And not because of a lack of effort on Nightmare's part. He challenged the other with dreadful beasts, hideous illusions, and nerve-racking scenarios in the darkest corners of the Dreamscape, yet received the exact opposite reactions he expected. Smiles instead of fear. Jokes replaced sobs and tears. Stars, the seemingly fearless skeleton even had the audacity to try to pet a hellish beast Nightmare summoned once.

Meaning, whatever plagued that terror-inducing dream was something no hero stood a chance against fighting. He could barely contain his excitement toward all the glorious fears available to discover about the starry, happy-go-lucky Sans.

The grin on the dark skeleton's skull slipped into a sinister smirk; Snapping with a single hand, he brought forth a special portal - one of which was only used by him and Dream to cross between reality and illusions - before promptly abandoning the paperwork and stepping through.

When Nightmare reappeared, the layout of the surroundings was entirely different. Cold tile laid in place of the mansion's wooden floors, metallic shelves surrounded him from all sides, and illusionary people drifted about, minding their own business. A cyan eyelight examined the area for danger from its narrowed eye socket. It flittered over cans, boxes, green plastic baskets, and shopping carts- The smirk quickly dipped into a frown.

_A grocery store? A grocery store?!_

A growl ripped past his jaws, causing a few imaginary people to glance at him in concern.

_There better be something absolutely horrifying here!_

The corrupted lord continued by stomping down the isles and occasionally hissed at anyone who drew too close, all the while keeping on the lookout for a particular blue-clad annoyance. A bright sky-ish shade caught his attention a little ways into his journey. Trudging toward it, that was when he noticed something that made his slimy corruption boil. 

"Why am I a cashier?! Someone as menacing and powerful as I is clearly more suited for a managerial role!" Blue jolted, swiving on the heels of his boots to face him.

"Nightmare?" Twin blue eyelights jumped between the two near-identical monsters in confusion. "There's two of you?!"

Nightmare scoffed. "No, the faux creature behind the counter is merely an illusion conjured by your mind."

"I'm dreaming?" The Swap Sans pinched together his brows in contemplation, resulting in his very real goopy onlooker rolling an eyelight.

"Indeed. It's a nightmare. A very boring one at that! Is this really what you're afraid of, grocery stores and cashiers?

"I- I think it is a little more complicated than that."

"That doesn't matter! This. Is. _Pathetic_. I'm ashamed my half of the Dreamscape would even dare to pass off such mundane, meaningless drivel as a nightmare." Rage seethed in his soul. He came here expected quality phobias and deplorable beasts, not this _pansy garbage_.

Blue opened his mouth to speak but halted when Nightmare's doppelganger gently tapped him on the shoulder with a stray tendril. The downgraded dark lord frowned and held up a scrap of paper, saying, "Excuse me, sir, your coupon is expired."

"NO!" The word echoed through the air as the blue-clad skeleton fell to his knees in defeat, burying his skull between his gloved hands.

The Guardian of Negativity deadpanned at the sobbing mess before turning around and opening a rift-esque portal that led to a vast grassy plain. "I'm leaving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else out there have boring, mundane nightmares sometimes? Like "Oh, no, there are no clean plates!" or "Darn, I'm trapped in the grocery store until I find that one thing!"
> 
> Just me? Okay.


	53. Choose!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broomie is sweeping away the competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's day!
> 
> This is... something.

"Pick one!"

The twin declarations echoed across the vast white Anti-Void, emanating from a pair of lovestruck skeletons hellbent on getting into a particular glitch's personal space. 

Error sighed for what very well may have been the tenth time that week; He shifted in his beanbag chair to face the two invaders, resisting the urge to growl unhappily. The short/wide patch of woven, blue yarn drawn close to his chest slowly lowered into his lap alongside two knitting needles. With calculating eyelights, the dark skeleton examined the monsters who dared to disturb his well-deserved free time. Again. 

A beige-clad individual adorned by paints (blue, red, yellow, and more) stood directly before him, and a familiar black-cloaked figure occupied the space beside the other. The duo was instantly recognizable: Ink, the diabolical bane of Error's existence, and Reaper, the annoying ex-lover that couldn't take a hint. Each bore determination in their eyelights (or eye sockets) matched by a spark of confidence in their features; Judging by their posture, neither seemed as though they would be leaving any time soon. Not without a proper answer, at least. One that involved a word other than "no" or "funk off." 

The destroyer weighed his options- be stuck with a soulless being who opposed everything he stood for or tolerate some idiot so far stuck in the dark ages he couldn't move past a dead relationship. A grimace nearly overtook Error's expression as he pondered the dire predicament. Both choices lack appeal. Greatly. And the one he wished he could choose (telling them to go right be to the AU they crawled out of), sadly, laid beyond his reach. So, Error chose the third option. 

"Broom." He stated plainly. 

"What?" An hourglass and question mark formed in Ink's eye sockets as he glanced around as if expecting to find a magical broom lying about the white space. When none presented itself, the skeleton shot Error a baffled look that triumphed the confusion Reaper stared at him with. 

In response, the destroyer lifted a hand and pointed at the giant object strapped to the artist's back. 

Reaper's invisible eyelights trailed toward the indicated direction. Upon setting sight on Broomie, the God of Death raised an eyebrow and stated, "Geno, you need to choose between one of us. _Not_ pick a random object." 

Error scoffed. "Hmph! I know that, idiot. I am choosing the broom."

Before the black-cloaked skeleton could say otherwise, he summoned a barrage of strings from the ceiling above, which snatched the item right off Ink's back and brought it to his awaiting hands. The artist merely yelped, doing no more throughout the theft. Reaper, however, shot the broom a menacing glare when it connected with Error's multi-colored phalanges. Deep-seated jealousy hid in the dark depths of his empty eye sockets.

Seeing the god's discontent, Error decided to partake in a few theatrics. (Blame King Doom and Gloom for that. Though Nightmare may be serious, he had a particular appreciation for adding a little flare into the things he did. Especially if that "flare" made more people flee in terror.) A hand slowly rose and ran through the fine bristles atop the art instrument before trailing down, helping the destroyer's other hand tug it close to his chest; It felt as though the broom leaned into the touch. Chills ran down Error's spine at the disturbing thought. Still, the action had the desired effect. Reaper's feathery wings puffed out, like a little fledgling miserably failing to intimidate a large fowl. 

Suddenly, the gravity of the situation dawned on Ink; realization spread across his face. 

"Broomie! How could you betray me like this?" The self-proclaimed protector of AUs fell to his knees, jaws overcome by a deep frown, and eyelights morphed into a blue teardrop and a black, broken heart. "After everything we've been through together- the adventures, the art, the slumber parties... Did all that mean nothing to you?"

The inanimate object had no answer for its old lifelong companion, but if Error didn't know any better, he'd say it almost looked smug. Maybe, even, pleased. The destroyer gave his skull a light shake. No, that was impossible. Odd, too. Perhaps the Anti-Void's insanity-inducing aspects were getting to him again. 

A nice long trip to Outertale with his brand new prize would help clear his head. 

"Gen... Please, please, reconsider! I have chocolate! The broom can't get that for you, but I can!" Reaper pleaded when the dark-boned skeleton turned to face the opposite direction. 

As Error sauntered away with Broomie in tow, he muttered a soft, "You know, you remind me of a tree I once knew."


	54. Cookies and Traps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another year, another Gyftmas for Palette and Goth to continue their holiday tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belated Gyftmas story.

Soft, pillowy grey clouds blanketed the evening sky. The shadows cast added to the sharp chill in the air and only strengthened as small white flakes slowly began to rain from above, growing the already large stretch of snow coating the land. Barren tree branches bent beneath the increasing load before curving in a way that allowed the hefty snow to fall to the ground. Over the course of a few hours, this would create enormous mounds perfect for playing in once the weather cleared in the upcoming morning. Provided the occasional strong gusts cutting through the surrounding trees stopped kicking up the snow poffs.

Palette hummed softly; His colorful eyelights fixated on the world beyond the frosted glass window to the left. A particularly icy-looking draft urged him to nestle further into his best friend's couch and pull the borrowed starry, blue quilt tighter around himself- which was very helpful in his attempt to fight off catching a secondhand chill. Not that it helped suppress a shiver as the wind grew stronger. Airy howls echoed. Windows all across the home gave a rattle. It, thankfully, took a mere few moments for the noise to die down. Yet, the world outside seemed icier than ever. The young skeleton gave a considering glance at the dark, wooden end table settled below the windowsill. A steaming cup of Geno's famous hot chocolate innocently sat atop it. Despite how tempting it may be, he knew better than to gulp down the devilish treat. Geno made the sweet beverage once a year (during Gyftmas season and solely during Gyftmas season), and anyone fortunate enough to receive a cup savored it. That was if they had the strength to fight their growing temptation.

Which Palette quickly decided he didn't have.

A sleeve-covered arm crept past the blanket's confines and over the couch's armrest, allowing his hand easy access to the mug's handle. He snatched it without a second thought, drawing the chocolaty drink to his teeth and taking a big sip before returning the half-empty cup to its spot. The rich cocoa's taste had his invisible taste buds begging for more. This time, however, Palette resisted the drink's powerful siren call. (Barely. But the budding guardian would never admit to catching a hand before it could snake over and greedily grasp the delight, like an imp after a shiny gold ring.) He refused to squander a single drop left in the mug, primarily because there was no telling if he would be able to get another cup.

Geno's hot chocolate was just that popular. Amongst his family/honorary family, friends, and the many AUs he associated with from time to time.

It took a demanding amount of effort for Palette to tear his eyelights from the drink's general direction and move them to his best friend. Goth sat cross-legged on the dark grey rug stretched across the living room's hardwood floor, busying himself with the various items surrounding him: nondescript wires, switches/levers, ropes, nets, metal spikes, bear traps, and- Wait, was that a fluffy white dog? Palette blinked at the tiny creature. It let out an even smaller yip and began darting excitedly beneath the large Gyftmas tree placed in the left corner of the room, causing the sliver gaster blaster-shaped pendant hanging from its neck to flail around.

_Huh. I wonder how that little guy got here? An early Gyftmas present from Ms. Life, perhaps?_

Mismatched eyelights drifted the short distance back to the deathly skeleton. A thick tightly-wound rope now laid on the floor and in the adolescent death god's lap. Goth fiddled with one end, attempting to tie a knot; brow scrunched and spectral red tongue peeking out from between his teeth due to the intense concentration. When the random loops came together to make an intricately tied ball, his expression quickly changed to a cheery grin only matched by the beaming cartoon tombstone on the white/red sweater pulled over his cloak. While morbid, it still made him look unbelievably adorable.

Palette opened his jaws to congratulate the other's success but stopped short when he noticed the renewed taste of chocolate on his nonexistent tongue. His gaze shot over to the end table. Its wooden surface no longer held the mug containing the pure chocolaty delight. Giving each phalange a light flex had him glancing down at his left hand in betrayal- because there, in its grasp, laid the missing item. The dastardly appendage gripped the cup's handle naturally as if it hadn't committed a heinous sin against its owner.

_You win this time. But make my words, devilish cocoa, I will find the power to resist you one day._

Giving one last glare to the offending hand, the young guardian forced away his empty mug and mourned the loss of the hot chocolate that previously filled it. A light _clank_ sounded as it returned to the place it got stolen from; His hand drew back to his side, doomed to forever lie in shame.

Releasing a defeated sigh, he pulled his teeth into a small pout and questioned wistfully, "Gothy, have I ever told you that your mom makes amazing hot chocolate?"

"You and a thousand other lost souls." The death god barely glanced up, busy focusing on the tiny box-shaped contraption clasped in one hand while the second worked on the blue, green, and red wires poking out of it. "I'll get you another cup when I go get my own later."

"Yes!" Palette quietly cheered, pumping a fist in the air to celebrate the small victory. He could always count on Gothy to snag him an extra holiday treat.

With a pleased smile, his gaze shifted toward the window overseeing the chilled wilderness. Festive shades of blue, red, green, and yellow from the Gyftmas decorations he set up with Goth and his parents softly flickered against the vast white. Reaper must have just turned them on. And it was a good thing he did. All the hues shimmering on the icy terrain looked breathtaking as they danced in the biting darkness- a dangerous thing for a family that contained two crow-skeleton monsters. Luckily, a little pepper spray deterred any (further) attempts to chew on or harvest the sparkling lights.

The budding guardian stifled a giggled at the memory of Geno shooing the two gods from the Gyftmas lights they seemed determined to peck on. If not for Reaper's insistence, the eternally bleeding Sans would have never allowed such a thing to be near or in their house. Why did he give in? The senior God of Death had become quite the holiday celebrator since being introduced to more modern traditions. Though, Palette - and possibly Geno and Goth - suspected that was because they gave him an excuse to abandon his work. Even if for a day or two. Plus, the crow-skeleton got to hoard those tantalizingly shiny lights and flaunt them in front of the forest crows every year. Many were beginning to think there was an unspoken war going on between the raven-feathered beings. A thought which reminded him of his own yearly battle.

 _This year is the year we finally do it_ , Palette thought. He gave himself a resolute nod, the corners of his mouth rising higher at the prospect of achieving a particular goal. This year he and Goth were going to catch the ever-elusive _Gift Giver_.

Like how humans had legends of a jolly man who broke into peoples' houses to leave gifts, monster-kind told stories of their own legendary holiday spirit: the Gift Giver, a mysterious being who was said to have once been a monster whose soul shone brighter than gold and could grant a single wish to those who caught them. Most tales about the spirit dated back to when monsters first got sealed into the Underground, meaning some details might be wrong, but the stories were intriguing nonetheless. And Palette wanted to catch them. For Goth, and a more selfish reason.

The bundled-up skeleton neatly set the quilt aside before throwing his legs over the couch's edge and allowing his sock-covered feet to touch the cool wooden floor. A light chill nipped the bony soles, causing him to push off the couch and move faster to the carpeted space surrounding his friend. The items around the other had since disappeared. Likely hidden. After all, one would not be able to catch a legendary spirit by making their attempts obvious.

"Do you have the traps set up?" Palette said once he stood next to the young death god, who seemed to be pushing loose cables beneath the Gyftmas tree's red skirt.

After tucking the last stray wire away, Goth lifted himself from the ground and used both hands to dust the lower part of his cloak. His eyelight surveyed the hidden traps for a moment. Then, when they proved to meet his standards, he turned toward Palette with a grin.

"Yeah, and it is even better than last year! Uncle Papyrus let me borrow some of his old human-trapping stuff from when he was trying to get into the Royal Guard. He gave me some lessons on how to build a more effective snare, too!" Goth blushed and glanced away, quietly adding, "And lessons on how to escape a snare."

"Aw, but last year was so much fun! We were stuck hanging from that tree for hours."

"...Hours that we could have spent snuggling in bed."

Palette cocked his head, trying to make sense of the words the other muttered into his shoulder. "What was that?"

A bright red flush stretched across Goth's skull quicker than he could blink. Soon followed an awkward laugh and rushed words spoken in a voice raised two notes higher, "Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how excited I am to catch the Gift Giver this year!"

The lie was evident. Due to the emotions behind it and the way his friend lightly shifted from foot to foot. However, before he could point it out, Geno chose that moment to peek past the nearby doorway. Dark red glasses rested on the older skeleton's nasal cavity, and his attire had changed to a set of plain red pajamas- Clearly, bedtime arrived a lot earlier than thought.

Geno smiled and spoke softly, "Boys, remember: don't stay up too late, or the Joy Stealer might take your gifts from beneath the tree."

"Okay, mom!" Goth chimed, seemingly recovered from whatever nervousness overcame him before his mother arrived.

Palette noted it might be best to leave the subject until the other felt comfortable talking about it. Then, in a cheery voice, he shouted his own reply. "Alright, Mr. Geno!"

Odd emotions stirred within the glitchy immortal at the word "Mr." Some form of resignation - amongst other indecipherable things - that failed to show outwardly but still toiled inside.

Keeping the same warm expression, Geno wished them both a quick "goodnight" and disappeared around the corner. The duo heard him grumble softly in the hall, "I wish he wouldn't call me that. It makes me feel old."

A slurred, more ethereal voice responded teasingly. "Ah! But, Gen, you _are_ old."

"Not older than you!" Any further conversation got cut off by a harsh smack and a yelp. Not that the two young skeletons would hear more anyway, as footsteps soon sounded throughout the hall as the only adult figures in the house retreated to their room.

Palette raised a brow at his friend in silent questioning. To which Goth waved a hand dismissively and said, "Don't mind them. Dad might have had too much of that special holiday eggnog Uncle Blue sent over."

"Your parents got some too?"

"Uh, yeah. I think some got sent to everyone?"

"Hmm," Palette hummed. He proceeded to gasp Goth's hand, causing the smaller to stammer and blush anew while he tugged him toward the direction of the couch. "How about we get to work on our epic pillow fort. This year I am determined not to fall asleep in it!"

"Y-yeah!"

Later that night, Reaper sleepily hobbled out of his and Geno's bedroom to check on the children and ensure their gifts got placed safely under the Gyftmas tree. Stars knew his lovely bleeding husband would have his skull mounted above the mantel if he forgot to put out their presents.

In the hall, the God of Death carefully maneuvered (or luckily stumbled) around each squeaky floorboard until he reached the living room doorway, clearing the first tricky obstacle of the night. The second being whatever horrors - _traps_ \- his son placed to catch the Gift Giver. A fictional character at best, considering Reaper had never seen a being matching their description. Neither in the mortal _or_ godly realms. Still, if it made Goth happy, then he did not mind playing along with the tales Geno told him. Even if it meant dodging nets, spikes, and bear traps every year.

His eye sockets examined the floor space between the doorway immediately. Nothing visible laid there, so Reaper took a chance and slipped a foot past the threshold. There was no sharp pain, weight of a net, or anything else signaling danger.

The dark-cloaked skeleton full strode into the room, deeming the area safe- or safe enough, at the very least. Little snores drifted from what appeared to be a plush structure by the couch and window. Goth and Palette could be seen inside through a breach in the blankets, snuggled up together with a nest of even more pillows and blankets surrounding them; content smiles rested on their lax faces. An adorable sight, if anything. One that made him wish he had a camera on hand to immortalize their cuteness for all eternity. Wait, he _did_. Reaper opened his inventory and eyed the various contents.

Glass lily? No. Dusty scroll? No. Petrified fruitcake? Definitely not. Shiny emeral- Ah, there it was, sitting right below some of his scavenged treasures: _his phone_. A hand swiftly summoned the item and aimed for the perfect picture, which he might use to embarrass his son later. Before the shot got taken, though, a light thump echoed near the Gyftmas tree. A little cookie - chocolate chip from the look of it - slowly rolled along the carpet and onto the hardwood floor, stopping at Reaper's slippered feet.

He blinked at the treat and carefully leaned over to pick it up. While doing so, the god's brows furrowed when he noticed a bite missing from the cookie's circular edge. Meaning _someone_ had been eating the cookie. An intruder, perhaps? Unlikely. No one was stupid enough to break into the dwelling of the literal God of Death.

Right?

Muted taps emanated from the area the cookie appeared from, making Reaper's head instantly snap toward the noise. His invisible eyelights watched as, bit by bit, little pieces of chocolate and breading descended to the floor, recreating the previously heard sound with each impact. They then slowly trailed upward and- "Geno, why are you hanging from a net on the ceiling while holding a plate of cookies?!"

The aforementioned skeleton glowered, drawing a phalange to his teeth and hissing a quiet " _sh_ " while pointedly glancing at the sleeping children.

Reaper slapped a hand across his jaws. A peek at the boys showed they only stirred slightly at his sudden outburst. He released a small sigh of relief and let his hand fall to his side.

In a barely raised whisper, the dark-cloaked monster rephrased his question. "What happened?"

"I was going to place their gifts for you since you looked too peaceful to disturb. However, as you can see, Goth's traps are more intricate and well-hidden this year." Geno got an almost nostalgic look in his eyelights. "Reminds me of when Paps was little."

"Do you want down, or..."

"Just leave me here for a little bit."

"Alright." Reaper lifted his foot hesitantly, eyeing the seemingly normal space surrounding the tree before gently lowering it and taking a step back. "I'm gonna use my magic to place gifts instead."

Geno released a tiny snicker. "So you do have some brain cells rattling around in there, after all!"

"More than enough to get you to marry me." The death god retorted, sending the now blushing skeleton a wink.

"Place gifts under the tree, you idiot."


	55. Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goth discovers the monster isn't under the bed. It's at the foot, watching him sleep.

Night had since descended upon the realm of death. Grey clouds crept along the moonless sky, making a promise to bring about a thunderous storm in the upcoming hours. Perhaps, creating what one might call a "dark and stormy night," the cliché seen at the beginning of numerous horror stories. Howls echoed from the fog-laden woodlands that surrounded the land's sole structure: a mansion.

However, this mansion was no ordinary mansion. Within the building's creaking wooden walls lived two dangerous monsters, both proficient in reaping souls, Reaper and Goth. The father and son duo had retired to bed for the day after a long shift spent completing their unappreciated job. One fell asleep almost immediately, and the other could not catch sleep if it were contagious.

In the mansion's depths, the little skeleton child laid on his plush mattress and huddled further into the quilt hiding him. He feared neither the storm nor the howling beasts lurking beyond the veil of darkness. They happened to be a constant in the ominous realm. A thing Goth grew up with and knew very well. No, something - _someone_ \- inflicted terror on the young death god's soul. Not a beast, not a nightmare, but an unholy creature that made horrid noises in the shadowy corners unlit by the nightlight's warm yellow glow.

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

Goth cowered beneath his blanket. The sound repeated over and over and over again as he shivered and hugged his legs to his chest. A tiny sniffle escaped without permission, causing the creature that created the bone-chilling sound to pause a moment before starting anew. Thus, making him squeeze his eye sockets shut and pray the (hopefully) imaginary demon would disappear.

He didn't want to be a coward. He was a death god revered - but more often feared - by mortals; The son of Death and Genocide, who should be stronger _and_ braver than a mere child.

Mustering all his courage, the young death god abruptly cast aside his plush shield and righted himself; a hand stretched out with a single phalange pointed at the noisy thing while he wobbly demanded, "W-w-why are you here?!"

Silence answered.

Goth slowly cracked open his eye sockets and blinked. An even darker mass mingled amongst the shadows laying at the foot of the bed frame. Its hazy shape looked skeleton-esque and appeared to flicker side to side ever-so-slightly in certain areas, like static-y snow the TV displayed sometimes. A bright yellow/blue orb shone where he could only assume an eye socket laid. If not for those details and the fact the figure was about an inch too short to be the only other skeleton in the house, the young god might have believed his father decided to prank him.

Once Goth's eyelights adjusted to the dim lighting and took in the sight of the creature waiting at the end of his bed, he whimpered. Almost immediately yanking his hand back to his side and drawing the covers tight around his sitting form, eyelight quivering fearfully.

Opposite from him stood none other than Error, the destroyer of worlds. The fizzle of the broken-coded being's glitches was masked by the hum of the old house's outdated air conditioning system. His dark-toned bones barely stood out against the shadows, and his opposing form loomed menacingly over the bed's edge, providing a decent view of the white/red striped popcorn bucket clasped in his multicolored hands. Despite the poor lighting, Goth could see a somewhat surprised expression on that foreboding face.

The other seemed to observe him for a moment before answering. "To-to watch y-you sleep-p."

" _Don't_! Go away!" Goth whisper shouted, trying to keep his voice quiet enough as not to wake the home's second resident. But would it be a bad thing if he woke his father? Probably. Reaper was rather useless when tired, and the young death god doubted the other would be able to fight off a powerful monster in such a state.

At the mini outburst, the destroyer merely raised a brow and popped a few more pieces of fluffed corn into his mouth. "Wh-why? It-t-t never bothered you-you before."

Goth let out a strangled whine and quickly pulled the top of his sheet over his head. For hours he stayed awake under the covers, listening to the dreaded crunching sound until his body rebelled and dragged him into a restless slumber.

When the skeleton child woke up the next morning, he found a well-crafted doll of his mother eerily sat in the destroyer's stead.


End file.
